The Wolfman of Grimwood
by Mr. Spinner
Summary: Life is full of surprises. When a supernatural change hits Shaggy Rogers out of nowhere, there is only one place he and Scooby-Doo can turn to: Miss Grimwood's School for Ghouls. But even as they reunite with familiar friends, dark forces are at work in the world. Can Shaggy and his friends overcome the trials that await them? Ghoul School sequel w/ Reluctant Werewolf elements. R&R
1. Chapter 1

**Scooby-Doo and the Wolfman of Grimwood**

 **Chapter One**

As the sun began to set over the crags in the deep reaches of the Rocky Mountains, far removed from any sizable human population, an island sat in the middle of a crystal clear mountain lake. The treacherous path to reach it was all but inaccessible to anything as "civilized" as mortals had become, as ignorant of their instincts as they had fallen.

This island, instead, was occupied by a large log cabin, reminiscent in style of the romantic image of the caravans of the Romani people; those known more commonly as gypsies. A merry campfire danced in a circle of stones before the cabin, illuminating the image of a well-built man that appeared to be in his early thirties sitting on a log and reading a large leatherbound book by the firelight. Dense trees surrounded the scene, blocking any outside view.

A steady _thudding_ noise echoed through the trees, the sound of logs being split with a maul. Some may have thought it racket, but it soothed the older gentleman. After some time, the rhythmic sound ended, followed soon by the rustling of bushes that parted to reveal a girl in her mid-teens, hauling a net full of split firewood.

In the time she had been splitting wood, the fire had burned low, almost to ashes. Neither father nor daughter was concerned; that had been the intent. Tonight was the last of _their_ nights, the final night of the full moon. And neither of them would want a fire on this most glorious of nights.

In the dying light of the fire and the heralding glow of the rising moon, the older gentleman hummed in intrigue at what his book described. The girl looked up, surprised. Usually her papa was quiet as a mouse when he read the old codexes and bestiaries of the Romanai.

"Papa?" she asked.

"Winnie," he said, somewhat distractedly, "come read this." He moved over to allow his daughter to sit by him and pointed at the passage he had just read. As she read over it, Winnie's eyes grew wider, stunned by what the book said.

"Is this true, Papa?" she asked.

Her father, the man once known as Lawrence Talbot, chuckled to himself. "In all my years of reading these old gypsy books, I have never once found a passage that was completely wrong."

Before either Talbot could consider this line of thought further, the silvery light of the full moon spilled from above the treeline, falling upon the two. As one, father and daughter gasped as primal energy arose in their bodies, in their very souls. They felt the familiar transformation, fur growing, nails lengthening into claws, canines sharpening. They could transform whenever they wished, but only the full moon brought the Change so strongly.

Twin howls split the night as the Talbots rushed through the mountains. Man was safe from them, even if they didn't know it. Only whelps were dangerous during the Change, as Lawrence had once been. But he had known control for decades, and Winnie had never had to learn it. They were the alphas, the apex predators.

And all the night was their hunting ground.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, sheets of rain pelted the bayous of Louisiana, dark clouds writhing as they spat bolts of lightning and roared with thunder. The storm drenched the forested swamps, its ire focused particularly on a house that sat on the crest of a hill, its architecture a balance between a large plantation house and a small mansion.

This place, known almost solely to the monster community that lived in the shadows of society, was Miss Grimwood's School for Ghouls.

While the thunderstorm may have bothered some, the school's sole two occupants were, rather fittingly put, right as rain. In her chambers, the eponymous Miss Grimwood was dressed in a salmon nightgown, smiling to herself as the thunder rolled over her school, its call soothing her nerves even as it somehow complimented the steady creaking of her rocking chair and the near inhumanly rapid click and clack of her knitting needles.

Ever since she was a girl, some century or so ago, the woodland witch had very much enjoyed knitting. Some in the monster community might find it odd, too reminiscent of mortals, but it always relaxed her, reminding her of her roots growing up near the city of New Orleans and learning magic from her grandmother.

Within the span of an hour, her decades of experience allowing her to knit far more quickly than most, Miss Grimwood held up a large banner to welcome her returning students within the next week. This old house tended to grow lonesome during the summer, when her girls returned home to their families.

A deep snore drew Miss Grimwood from her thoughts and to her faithful pet dragon, Matches. No longer the size of a cat, he had grown to rival that of a horse. And while his infamous temper had cooled somewhat, his pride had only grown, as dragons tended to do. And his fire had only grown hotter.

Folding her banner and placing it aside, she began to design her next project, another banner, this one for encouragement for her girls in their annual volleyball match against their neighboring rival school, Colonel Calloway's Military Academy. Though it hadn't happened in recent years, the old headmistress chose to have faith that her girls could pull off a win this year.

Naturally, her thoughts wandered to the person responsible for their last victory five years earlier. Their beloved former coach, Shaggy Rogers, and his dogs. She wondered idly if the young man was well, neither her nor her girls bearing any ill will for his sudden departure at the end of that eventful term. His contract had stipulated a single year, and those incoming students had turned out be a rather tough handful. It was a shame none of them had been able to remain at Grimwood's.

As she finished her design with a flourish of her pencil and prepared for the beginning stages of the actual knitting, the woodland witch grew rigid as her instincts screamed at her, her carefully honed sense of the arcane picking something up. Something familiar. Even Matches could feel it, the dragon raising his head from where he had been snoozing in his large, fireproof bed.

Rising from her seat, Miss Grimwood ran a hand over a number of cabinets that matched the bookshelves lining her room's walls, the shelves lined with everything from magical texts and catalogues of magical herbs to histories and bestiaries of monsterdom. The cabinets, varying in size from tiny to massive and all shielded by simple binding and concealing charms, were used to store the various magical implements that she had gathered over the years.

Opening one of the smaller doors, she revealed a large crystal ball resting on a velvet cushion. The sphere now glowed with a greenish light, a light that coalesced into the stern-faced image of an old friend, the renowned warlock Vincent van Ghoul.

"Vincent, dear," Miss Grimwood greeted with her usual cheer. "How are you?"

"Miss Grimwood," Vincent replied evenly, not bothering to say more.

"I'm assuming this is not a social call," Miss Grimwood noted, a touch sardonically.

"Your perceptiveness was always astounding," Van Ghoul replied sarcastically. "I have felt a premonition, one that could lead to utmost disaster that is somehow tied to your school. And one bound to a … mutual associate of ours."

Miss Grimwood's eyebrows rose in surprise at that last bit. Of the few associates they shared, none came to mind. "And who would that be, Vincent?" she asked. While she would have enjoyed keeping their banter going, Vincent's premonitions were never wrong. Unlike herself, whose true strength was not in raw magical power but in preparation and knowledge of potions and charms, Vincent was a world-class powerhouse. And if he predicted something so bad, she felt it wise to cut to the chase.

"A young man who once helped me bind a collection of demons that his dog had released." In another time, those ghosts would have escaped his castle and ravaged the world until they could be found and sealed back in their prison. But in this time, Vincent's protective charms had kept them contained, and the young man, his friend Ms. Blake, and their dogs had taken it upon themselves to, however reluctantly, search his home and capture them before they found a way out.

"Though he and his dog were the cause of it, he acted admirably and captured these spectres with his companions. And now, this rising threat is tied to him as strongly as to your school." His tone became more menacing, "And its students."

Miss Grimwood, even ever the optimist, grew pale at Vincent's warning. And his repeated description of a young man and his dogs had drawn a very specific person to mind. "What would you suggest I do?" she asked quietly.

"During my vision, I felt that the boy will, this very night, come into his true power, a power that has lain dormant in his bloodline for generations. I feel he will come to you for help on this matter. You must find a way to keep him close and teach him to master this power. Only with his aide can you and your students overcome the challenges to come." With that, and a faint glint of sympathy in his eyes, Vincent faded from the crystal.

As Miss Grimwood closed the cabinet door, her mind was whirling with possibilities. A latent power? The challenges to come? Miss Grimwood was familiar with the power to sense and interpret the possibilities of the future, even if she herself had little talent in the art. She knew that such a thing was by its very nature inexact, the course of future events always changing like a feather cast into the winds.

Deciding to think on it in the comfort of her bed, she sank into the mattress and wrapped herself in her homemade quilts. No sooner had she prepared to sink into slumber did the telephone on her bedside table ring. That in itself was rather odd; very few even knew this existed. Few monsters chose to keep up with the times, and even fewer would have the means or motivation to use this telephone in particular. Really, it had largely been a challenge for her dear resident flesh golem.

Taking the earpiece from the reciever, Miss Grimwood composed herself before answering. "Miss Grimwood's School for Ghouls," she said, both sleepily and cheerfully.

" _Hey, Miss Grimwood,_ " a very familiar voice said, somewhat sheepishly. Miss Grimwood bolted up in her bed in surprise. 'Well, well. Point for Vincent,' she thought wryly.

* * *

A world away from the Americas, a foreboding stone fortress sat in the peaks of the Carpathian Mountains, the subject of numerous local legends and superstitions over the centuries. Some said it was haunted, others claimed it to be the home of monsters. And still others, thinking themselves beyond such superstitions, believed it was merely an abandoned keep, protected by the Romanian government for historical reasons. Yet those who chose to look into it saw that it was legally owned by an ancient family of Transylvania, from which it presumably earned its name.

Castle Dracula.

In actuality, the castle was the home to the infamous vampire lord Count Dracula, one of the most respected members of the world's monster community. In another life, he would at the moment be in the throes of the undead equivalent of a mid-life crisis, manifesting in monster drag races and air-headed mistresses.

But in that life, his undead skin was colored in sickly green, rather than lavender. And in that life, he had never had his darling daughter Sibella.

Within the lit keep of the castle, Dracula sat in a large armchair before a roaring fire, quietly perusing a selection from his castle's library. Sibella sat in the chair across from him, calmly sewing the final gift for her friends for when they returned to Grimwood's within the week.

Dracula hummed as he read over the introductory passage to the book's chapter on celestial events. This book, the Grimness Book of Records, was quite rare, only a half-dozen volumes written centuries ago by a powerful seer, who recorded his visions of the past and the future to establish patterns and prophecies. In addition, it held insight on numerous kinds of monsters that was nonexistent in any other form.

As Dracula continued to read, his eyebrow rose in interest. According to the book, a lunar event every five-hundred years placed the full moon in the perfect position to create new werewolves. The author, whose name had been lost to time, speculated that this was a possible origin of werewolves as a whole.

Moving on, Dracula found that, as it turned out, the book also contained a detailed portrait of the one predicted to be blessed with such an honor. The Count moved to turn the next page, but paused as a feeling of deja vu settled over him and he examined the portrait more closely. He … knew this man. Why did he know this man?

"Sibella," Dracula called, drawing his daughter's attention from her project. "Come, please. I would ask your opinion on something." When she had come to look over his shoulder, Dracula pointed at the portrait. "Does this man not look familiar?"

Sibella's eyes widened in shock and she quickly skimmed the passage on this "Mother Moon" phenomenon. "Oh, dear," she whispered.

"What, my child? Who is he?"

Sibella glanced at her father with annoyance. How could he forget the coach that had been essential in her friends' triumph over their rival school? Then again, Dracula was an old vampire; he had been alive when this event had happened the last time. Truly, aside from Kharis, Tanis's father, he was the oldest of his generation of monsters.

"Let's just say, Daddy," she said, "that I have a feeling that this year will be most … eventful."

* * *

Outside a two-story house somewhere in the Southern United States, the Great Dane Scooby-Doo hummed tunelessly to himself as he did one of the things he loved most: taking an evening walk with his best friend, Shaggy. Of course, a walking _snack_ with his best buddy would be even better, but he was more than content with this.

After a few minutes of humming, listening to the crickets chirps and smelling the cool evening air, the duo came upon a small park situated in their neighborhood, a pair of unused lots that had been left by the neighborhood as a place for their pets. A copse of spaced-out trees filled the lot, allowing light in while providing privacy for anything the neighborhood dogs might need.

Speaking of, Scooby looked up to Shaggy, who smiled and unclipped his leash. With a smile, Scooby bounded into the depths of the trees, moonlight giving the park a soothing glow. He ran until he found the stump of an oak tree, charred by the lightning that had cut it down. This was Scooby's stump, and the rest of the dogs knew it. He liked it; it reminded him of a cooked turkey leg.

Scooby lifted his leg and sighed as he marked his territory. He shook himself after he finished and sniffed the air to find his friend, who had probably taken a brief walk along the trails to pass the time. Catching Shaggy's location, Scooby turned … and froze as he felt _something_. He couldn't have explained what it was … but it was something _big_.

His stupor was shattered by the sudden sound of breaking wood. And an unearthly howl that tore through the trees.

Scooby ducked down as instinctual fear rose up, his hands over his head as he trembled and waited. To his credit, it only took him a few seconds to realize that whatever had made that noise wasn't just here with him. It was here with Shaggy, too!

His fear for himself replaced by fear for his friend, Scooby bolted through the brush and trees in search of his Shaggy. He kept his footfalls as quiet as possible, but a dog his size could only do so much to be stealthy. As he ran, a wisp of wind brought a familiar scent to his attention, Shaggy's scent. And mixed with it, the smell of a massive canine!

After what had to have been a handful of seconds that only _felt_ like hours, Scooby burst into a clearing in the park, his hackles raised and his body primed to defend his friend. He growled menacingly as he searched the moonlit clearing. Scooby's ears shot up at the sight of deep gouges in the surrounding trees that resembled claw marks. There were no bears around here, he was sure of it. So what had done this?

It was then that Scooby again noticed the unusual smell in the air. Closer to the source, he picked up things he had missed. It was _definitely_ canine, and somehow it smelled like Shaggy. The scent was soaked in fear and irrational anger, the kind that has no source. All of this clicked in his head in less than a second, freeing his mind to pay attention to a sound in the air. Shaggy's pained moan coming from a stand of bushes.

Scooby quietly approached and gasped at the sight of Shaggy's prone form sticking out of the leaves. Scooby gently took the hem of his jeans in his teeth and dragged him from the shadows of the bushes … and jerked away when he saw the fur covering his friend's body! Scooby carefully nudged the prone form over with his nose, revealing … his friend. His friend with fur and claws and fangs.

Shaggy Rogers, somehow, was a werewolf!

The werewolf groaned and clutched its head, the sound exactly like what Shaggy would make. "Scoob?" he slurred, clearly disoriented. "Wha-? What happened?"

Scooby's teeth began to chatter as he frantically considered his situation. Some part of him, some instinct derived from the loyalty of all dogs, knew that Shaggy wasn't dangerous. And even if he was, he was Scooby's friend! But how to approach this?

In his experience, honesty was always best way to go. It would be a shock, but probably best to just get it over with, like a bandaid. Or a bath. "Y-y-y-y-y-" Come on, Scooby! Get it together! "Wait right here!" Scooby said and bolted back to the street. A sound of breaking plastic and a few moments later, Scooby returned with a side mirror from a car. "Look!"

Shaggy stood stock still as he processed the image in the mirror. "Oh, no," he whispered. "Oh no! I- I'm a werewolf!"

 **This idea has been brewing in the back of my head for years, slowly forming cohesion and powered by my nostolgic enjoyment of Scooby-Doo. A few months ago, I started a search of this very site for good fics based on "Scooby-Doo and the Ghoul School", with a particular hope to find one with shaggy as a werewolf ala "Reluctant Werewolf". Then a few weeks ago, it finally hit me that I can actually write one myself. This is the result of that line of thought.**

 **A special thanks to Ninjamuffin13, whose brilliant work "Scooby-Doo and the House of Monsters" helped me realize I can write this work, and even more special thanks to WildwindVampire, who has read over the chapters I have so far, given great support, critique, and encouragement.**

 ***The lines "in another time" reference the canon works of "The 13 Ghosts of Scooby-Doo" (short-lived show from the eighties) and "Scooby-Doo and the Reluctant Werewolf." I'll be taking elements from the latter to incorporate into the world of this fic.**

 ***For future reference, the girls' ages in GS and this fic are as follows: Tanis (9/14), Winnie (11/16), Phanty (12/17), Sibella (12/17), Elsa (13/18).**

 ***The backstories of the girls' fathers will be heavily based on the classic Universal horror films unless otherwise stated. IE, Winnie's father is Larry Talbot from "The Wolfman" (1941). **Also, Elsa and her father are "Frankensteins" in this rather than GS's "Frankenteen".**

 **Hope you all like this beginning and what is to come! Thanks for reading, LEAVE A REVIEW, and may your muses never waver!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"... And that's all I can remember," Shaggy finished lamely, running a clawed hand through his hair. Miss Grimwood tapped her lip as she considered his tale, carefully thinking over everything that she knew about werewolves. Despite having taught one for more than six years, she had to admit that she wasn't exactly an expert.

As the headmistress considered what he had told her, Shaggy grew ever more nervous. After settling down from the shock of waking up a werewolf, Scooby had guided him back to the house and forced him to eat a midnight snack (which, to anyone else would more resemble a full-course meal). They had then debated on what to do and had come up with a solution when Shaggy remembered the letters carefully preserved in a drawer in his room.

Letters from the Grimwood girls.

A bordering-frantic phone call later, and the two had dressed, quickly packed what they would need for what may or may not be an extended trip, and hopped into Shaggy's van to book it to southern Louisiana. An all-night-and-day drive later, they had arrived at the school at noon on a cloudy day, the grey light casting a fitting ambiance upon the place.

It had been just like Shaggy remembered, as if time had refused to touch the school. Upon driving up, and remembering the moat this time, they had been welcomed by Miss Grimwood, Matches, Hand, and the octopus butler who may or may not have had a name. After being ushered in and taking a mug of toadstool tea, mostly to have something to steady his hands, Shaggy had begun explaining what had happened.

And here they were.

"I must ask, Shaggy," Miss Grimwood said seriously, "would you be interested in teaching again?"

Shaggy coughed into his mug in surprise at the question, clearing his throat before answering with the first thing that came to mind. "You mean the coaching job's not filled?" he asked incredulously.

"Shaggy, I'm sure you can understand the shortage of teaching-qualified monsters," Miss Grimwood said lightly. "And also how difficult it would be to keep a human coach?"

"I stayed," he pointed out. Frankly, if he could grow past his fears and see how great the girls were, he figured anyone could.

"Would you have stayed that first night if you hadn't been under contract?"

Ouch. Right in the heart.

"Most of our prospective coaches have been more … thorough before taking the job. Or signing anything. They arrive, see the state of the school, and nine-out-of-ten leave before they even meet the girls. The other one-out-of-ten … well, they tend to run straight to the asylum in Jackson."

Shaggy chuckled nervously, unsure whether she was joking or not. And, in all honesty, he felt he was better off not knowing for sure.

"So again I ask, would you like to take up your old position?" Miss Grimwood asked kindly. "I know for a fact that the girls will be overjoyed to see you regardless, but they'd love to have their old coach back."

Shaggy glanced at Scooby, who smiled and flicked his tail in support. Shaggy sighed and put down his teacup to rub at his forehead. "Well, there's no way I could disappoint all of them," he conceded with an easy grin.

"Wonderful," Miss Grimwood replied. She stood and bustled off for a moment, returning quickly with a roll of parchment. "Here's a new contract, for a single year as before." She handed him the roll to examine, along with a feather pen. After going over the admittedly straightforward contract, he signed his name in his usual messy scrawl and handed it back to her.

"So when do the girls arrive for the next school year?" Shaggy asked. Given that it was the tail-end of summer, it had to be soon.

"They'll be arriving toward the end of the week," Miss Grimwood assured. "That should give you plenty of time to begin drafting your lesson plans." The last was added with a noticeable lilt of humor. "You both remember your room?" she asked, to which both nodded. "Excellent. Now do get some sleep, Shaggy. You look as if you'll pass flat out in my sitting room."

Shaggy was confused before he realized that the windows were almost dark. Even with the overcast day, had they really taken that long to explain his situation to the headmistress? With a shrug, Shaggy gestured for Scooby to follow and made his way up the stairs to find their old room.

As they moved through the halls, Shaggy couldn't help but begin to notice some changes. The walls were lined with what looked like gothic-styled electric lights, shining with what looked like modified fluorescent bulbs, the corners between the walls and ceiling hidden by long, twisted cables somehow _visibly_ running with electric current that apparently kept the lights on. And now that he thought about it, he thought he had seen something resembling a lightning rod built into the roof of the school.

Guess time had touched the old school, after all.

Finally arriving at their old room, Shaggy opened the door to let them in, revealing a freshly-made bed, a new doggy bed, and their luggage neatly stacked beside the door. Scooby chuckled and moved to plop into his new bed, leaving Shaggy to shake his head in amusement. Was he really so predictable that she knew he'd sign on before he even arrived?

Brushing it aside, he removed his shoes, grimacing at the torn sole that had revealed his clawed toes, and tossed them aside. He'd have to buy some open-toed sandals or something. But for now, he'd be fine barefoot. With a groaning sigh, Shaggy collapsed onto his bed and promptly began to snore, his thirty-six hours of driving catching up with him.

Whatever came next, he'd cross the bridge when he came to it.

* * *

As the sun began to set upon the port of New Orleans, Louisiana, a shipping freighter from Germany was finally finished securing to the unloading dock. Crewmen moved with ordered chaos as they catalogued, labeled, and unloaded everything aboard, each and every one of them ready for their time off before the freighter reloaded and sailed to its next destination.

One of the shipping crates was immediately moved to the warehouse to be unloaded, containing a steampunk-esque machine about the size of a large coffin. Tanks on both ends were labeled with hazard signs and the container itself gave instructions to handle with care. Along with this device was a number of carefully secured pieces of luggage.

The foreman in charge of this crate shrugged and motioned for his men to unload it, and to get it to the delivery van that would transport it to its final destination. Of course, had his curiosity gotten the best of him, he would have found that the machine really was along the lines of a fused coffin and industrial freezer. One meant for the preservation of its creator during long journeys.

As they loaded the machine and its accompanying luggage onto the van to be moved, the driver glanced at the address, a small town settled in the swamps of Louisiana. The end destination, which the local postal service would handle, made his eyebrow rise in surprise.

"Miss Grimwood's School for Girls." Odd place for something that looked like the prop of a mad scientist movie, but who was he to judge? Without a word, he cranked the engine and started his drive into the swamplands. The name of the sender didn't even register in his memory, assuming it was a pseudonym for an eccentric businesswoman. " _Elsa Frankenstein_ ".

* * *

Shaggy winced as the light from the rising sun woke him, drawing him quickly from dreamland. With a wide, somewhat bestial yawn, he shook off the weight of sleep and shambled to the chamber's accompanying bathroom to prepare for the day. He turned on the water, still bleary-eyed, and splashed his face to wake himself up. Looking into the cracked mirror, he flinched at the sight of himself before the memories from the last few days caught up.

Right. Werewolf.

Growling to himself, and a bit unsettled by that very reaction, he dried the fur of his face and looked through his luggage for his toothbrush. As he prepared to brush, the sharp scent of mint invaded his nose, the strength of it making him gag. With disgust, he washed off the toothpaste, the sharp scent still lingering, and brushed with only the bristles. It seemed his transformation had amped up his sense of smell.

As he woke Scooby, the smell of what could only be breakfast reached him. At the beginning of his first time at the school, the food that was served had unnerved even he and Scooby, both known for their iron stomachs. But over time, they had adjusted and even learned to enjoy it, at least when it was physically edible.

Now, the strange smell of Miss Grimwood's cooking was nothing short of mouthwatering. "Race ya to the kitchen, Scoob!" Shaggy shouted, bolting through the door even as he spoke. Scooby laughed and followed hot on his heels.

Breakfast first, lesson planning second. He had at least a few days; he'd be fine.

* * *

Across the Atlantic Ocean, another student was readying for the journey back to the school. Buried deep beneath the sands of the Egyptian desert, the young mummy Tanis was checking over her linen bag and leather case one more time. Extra bandages, check. Extra clothes, check. Books and scrolls from home, check. Charms and talismans, check. And so on and so forth.

As she finished packing her things, Tanis listened carefully to the distant chanting that echoed through the hallways of her father's crypt. He was preparing the ceremony and invocation to send her back to Grimwood's, back to her friends. And not for the first time, Tanis was happy her father had been a respected magician in life. With his knowledge, he could send her the fast roundabout way, rather than have her board a ship or, Ra forbid, a _plane_.

Cinching closed her bag and taking hold of her leather case, Tanis steeled herself for the ordeal ahead. While she preferred magical travel over mundane, she didn't particularly enjoy it either. It made her feel … nauseated, a feeling that she couldn't actually experience anymore. And that very strangeness made it worse.

Shaking off her nerves, Tanis approached the upright sarcophagus that would act as her portal to the school. Her father, Kharis, was dressed not only in ever-present bandages, but regalia of an Egyptian magician, a flowing linen robe and a gold collar and arm bands, all inscribed with magical symbols. Her mummy-daddy looked to her as he finished the chant, a smile on his lips. With the final word of the incantation, the sarcophagus opened to reveal vortex of glowing sand.

Her mummy-daddy placed his hands on her shoulders, an easier feat since she had grown. "Be careful, Tanis," he asked. Tanis smiled and nodded.

"I will," she said.

"Listen to Miss Grimwood," he said sternly, though with a slight grin. She nodded again with a bright smile. With that, Kharis drew her close and hugged her.

"And remember to write," he whispered.

Assuring him that she would, Tanis hefted her bags and steeled herself to hop through the swirling portal. As she was enveloped in the sands, she felt the tug of the portal draw her away and to its opposite end, like a fish caught in the currents of the Nile. An apt analogy, as her father's spell had been meant to form a current in the sands of the underworld; this was the basis of magical travel.

After an endless instant, Tanis flew out of her second sarcophagus to roll along the ground of her room. The portal faded away to reveal the back of her stone coffin and the torches lining the walls flared to life to reveal the utterly-realistic carvings and murals of an Egyptian crypt.

Tanis sneezed and brushed herself off before dusting her luggage and stacking it against her coffin. As the sensation akin to an adrenaline rush among the living wore off, Tanis felt weariness settle into her bones. Travelling by a portal through the upper layers of the Land of the Dead was taxing even to the risen dead themselves. With a heavy sigh, Tanis returned to her sarcophagus and closed it. She'd sleep for a while, then make presence known, just like every other year.

And just like every other year, "a while" meant more than a day.

* * *

As the day wore on, Shaggy continued to plan out his gym lessons. He'd always been more laid-back than anything, choosing to react to whatever may come instead of planning too much. It meant he was free to respond more loosely, more naturally. And in his teen years of fleeing from crooks in masks, it had served him pretty well.

His first tenure as coach of Grimwood had been pursued in this way. He'd come up with lessons on-the-spot, made it up as he went along. Guided by his experience in track and gymnastics it had gone fairly well, what with the winning volleyball trophy that year. But this year, he was determined to be more involved in planning, to maximize his students' lessons and their benefits.

At the moment, he was running the grounds of the Grimwood school, beating a track among the gravestones marked with sticks tied with red ribbons and arrows pointing to the next in line. He'd run a few hundred yards, plant a marker, and keep it up. The track, if one could call it that, twisted and turned and folded back on itself — it would test their reactions as much as their speed and stamina.

And through it all, he was both impressed and concerned to find, he was hardly out of breath. True, Shaggy had always been in deceptively good shape. He'd run track and done gymnastics in school, and weekends of fleeing crooks had kept him on his toes. While he hadn't been on a mystery in a while, old habits tended to die hard and he had kept himself fit.

But this was something else. Something that _had_ to be related to his new state of being. Yet another reminder that he was no longer human. After placing the final marker and pounding it into the ground, Shaggy turned to walk back to the school to cool down. As he walked, he began to worry about what he now was. Was he dangerous? Would he lose control? He really hoped that Miss Grimwood would shed some light on his "condition" soon.

* * *

In the basement below the Palais Garnier opera house in Paris, a familiar ghost was gently floating above the floorboards as she prepared to immerse herself into the currents of the spirit plane. Known by many names, such as Limbo, the Spirit World, or the Astral Plane, Phanty had always prefered her father's name for it. The Betwixt — the place between physical and What Comes After.

All spirits could enter this plane, at least in theory. Your average ghosts, spirits of the recently-dead who still had strong ties to the living, could find it difficult. Their thoughts and attitudes were either to narrow — such as being defined by a specific goal or emotion, i.e. revenge or anger — or they were too centered around their life and neglected to expand their awareness past the basics.

Genuine spirits, beings native to that place and usually called spectres or wraiths, found it easy for obvious reasons. It was moving to the material plane that could give them trouble, and their skill depended on age, power, and practice. For better or worse for humans, spirits had been visiting the Earth for countless millennia.

Phantoms, ghosts who had moved beyond their earthly tethers and yet chose to remain between life and death for whatever reason, sat somewhere in the middle, their ability to cross the line honed with practice. And the layout of the Betwixt was different from the material plane, its distances far more … nuanced. A journey that could take days or weeks even by flight in the physical world could take hours in the Betwixt.

Of course, the opposite was also true for the inexperienced, with a short journey taking far too long in relation to the physical. And navigating once you got there was another matter entirely.

Phanty continued to clear her mind (a facet of existence that persisted past death) to ready herself for the journey ahead. She had already said her goodbyes to her father for the time until the Grimwood open house, and so could simply concentrate.

After some time, Phanty shivered as she felt the transition from the mortal world to the spiritual. She opened her eyes to find herself in a gothic reflection of the opera house, the dark ethereal walls shining with a faint, silvery white light. This was her father's home, the home of a powerful and strong-willed phantom. Not to mention his home in life, as well, and his place of rest. She would always be able to find her way back here.

After a moment to appreciate the cozy feeling of her home, Phanty concentrated on the location of the Grimwood school. Miss Grimwood had long ago set up a kind of spiritual beacon in the basement of the school, a way for her and other friendly spirits to find the place in the Betwixt.

After a few moments, she caught the figurative "scent" and began to harden her will into an unrelenting spear. Unlike the physical plane, which tended to be fixed and unchanging, the Betwixt was fluid and susceptible to strong will or emotions. Really, all things tied to spirit were, so why would their world be any different?

After preparing her will, she sent it hurtling into the plane before her to carve her path. The wall before her began to shift, like water gently swirling in a pond, before snapping back into place — now with an ornate door. Phanty giggled to herself and opened the door to reveal a serpentine path through what appeared to be a spooky forest, the path shielded by a tunneling cage of glowing blue chains.

Phanty made sure to lock the door behind her, to seal away any cracks in her father's protections. Not everything in the Betwixt was benevolent, and she would never let them catch him off-guard if she could help it. While she held no doubt in her father's power, it didn't mean she would wish inconvenience upon him.

Remembering her thoughts on those "other things" — beings native to this world who existed for mischief, phantoms of murderers that refused to move on to certain punishment, lost souls consumed by rage or hate that would lash out at anything they encountered, the list was endless — she willed herself down the path as quickly as she could.

After what could have been an hour or a number of days, she felt the tell-tale shift in the Betwixt that meant she was close to Grimwood. As if on cue, the beacon, appearing like a pillar of green fire, came into view. Her tunnel-cage came up right to Miss Grimwood's wards, appearing as a circle of flames around the school grounds, and she passed through them without trouble. The wards had been designed to protect against malevolence, and Phanty was a cheerful as they came.

Making her way to the spirit reflection of her room, Phanty concentrated on returning to the material world, something much easier for her than the other way around. As she had thought before, in relation to the Betwixt the physical was solid, unmoving. With a whorl of ethereal mist, Phanty emerged from the in-between and into her old room in her beloved school.

"I really hope I haven't missed the first day," she laughed before phasing through the door. She was back! And she had friends to catch up with!

* * *

As the days drew nearer for the week before term began, when the girls' were due to arrive, Shaggy found his focus beginning to return to its previous levels. Perhaps it was the distance from the full moon, or maybe he was just getting the hang of it, but he was relieved. He had literally just put the finishing touches on the plans to evaluate his students skills when Miss Grimwood knocked and entered.

"Shaggy," she said excitedly. "Some of the girls have arrived!"

 **A little more groundwork before the real story begins. How'd ya'll like it?**

 ***The light fixtures, in my mind, are like in the Netflix "Castlevania" series, the ones down in the catacombs of Gresit. They look gothic and "Ghoul-School-ish" to me.**

 ***I tried to figure a good way for each of the girls to travel without being around humans. I mean, Sibella can fly and Winnie can run, but what about the rest? This, I think, gives them a good alternative.**

 ***In the original "Mummy" film from 1931, Imhotep was a high priest, and thus sorcerer, even after he was resurrected. Kharis, who was used later and was pretty much the same character, is the same. And yes, Tanis will show magic in this.**

 ***The Betwixt was inspired by the NeverNever of the Dresden Files. I like the name, personally.**

 ***As I've already messaged a few readers, this story will not focus on romance between Shaggy or any of the girls. 1)I'm in school to be a teacher, and the idea or a student-teacher romance rightfully doesn't mesh well with me; at least enough not to write it myself. 2)I'll be focusing on the friendly relationships between Shaggy, Scooby, the girls, Miss Grimwood, Matches, etc. 3)It's been done - you can hardly find a Ghoul School fic that doesn't play that angle. - Not saying romance won't have ANY place in this story, just not between Shaggy and the girls.**

 **Questions or comments? Leave me a review! They keep my inspiration and commitment up and kicking.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

To any other person, the scene that met Shaggy and Scooby upon reaching the school's front door would have seemed strange beyond belief. But they had acclimated to the oddness of Grimwood School before, and settling back in over the last few days had been like slipping back into a glove.

So a teenaged ghost slowly dragging a what looked like an iron coffin on wheels through the front doors while laughing madly didn't even phase them. Much.

"Coach," Miss Grimwood called goodnaturedly, "perhaps a little help here?" Shaggy nodded and grabbed an empty space, his added (and possibly supernatural) strength more than enough to get it through the door. Shaggy yelped as the box on wheels plowed into him and knocked him a solid six feet across the room only to crash into the wall and to a halt.

"Oh, you must be the new gym teacher," the Phantasma cackled.

"'New' is a relative term, Phantasma," Miss Grimwood noted. "I'd suggest you take a closer look at him." Quieted, for the moment, by Miss Grimwood's cryptic words, Phantasma floated closer and peered at him, giving Shaggy the chance to examine her more closely.

Aside from having grown a little, Phanty looked about the same as he remembered her. Her face was a little less round, her proportions (what little he could see) having evened out. (How that worked for a phantom was beyond him.) But instead of her old blue dress, she was clad in something like a cowgirl's getup, any shirt she wore covered by a dark poncho ala Clint Eastwood westerns. Spectral jeans, fingerless gloves, and her trademark white boots completed the image that only lacked a hat, allowing her navy-and-white bangs to flow over one eye.

Phanty's dramatic gasp broke his train of thought, and Shaggy yelped as he was enveloped in her icy embrace. "It's Coach Shaggy, Shaggy, Shaggy!" she cackled. "He's back! You're back, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" And through it all, she held onto his neck, cutting off his airway.

"Ack, Phan- Choking- Not breathing-!" Shaggy gagged, almost desperately scrabbling at his throat to futilly pry off her grasp. Phanty mercifully let him go, still chattering about the former coach's arrival after a quick yet heartfelt apology. Tuning out Phanty's chatter with practiced ease, Shaggy and Scooby approached the iron box and examined it more closely.

Frankly, the thing looked like something out of a steampunk movie. It had the basic proportions of a coffin, made out of what looked like steel and rubber. Cables ran all along its length while innocuous lights flickered in sequence, all connected to a clunky keypad in the middle of the lid. And at the head and foot of the box were a pair of metal tanks, like vacuum pumps.

"Uh, Miss G, what exactly is this?" Shaggy asked.

"This, Shaggy, is a vehicle for one of the students." Miss Grimwood defly entered a code into the keypad, which made the box shudder. The tanks on either end groaned and a faint fog emanated from it as the lid seemed to unseal itself. As the lid slowly opened, like in old-fashioned vampire movies, it revealed the familiar figure of Elsa Frankenstein.

Even as Shaggy and Scooby looked on, Elsa groaned and slowly sat up, stretching as if waking from a deep nap. She blinked a few times to focus her eyes and looked up to them. "Oh, hi," she said, her volume toned down somewhat since the last time they'd seen her. "You must be the new—" Elsa's eyes widened as she looked more closely. "Coach?" she asked.

"Like, got it in one, Elsa," Shaggy chuckled, with a two-fingered salute.

"Coach!" Elsa cried, her old volume returned. She clambered out of her coffin thingy and crushed Shaggy and Scooby into a bear hug. Thankfully, it only lasted a moment, but Shaggy had to wonder if each of the girls would give a painfully friendly hello.

"So, what's that?" Scooby asked, gently rubbing Shaggy's back and pointing at her box.

"Yeah," Shaggy added, "it looks more like something Sibella would use than a Frankenstein."

"Well, I got the idea from her," Elsa shrugged, once again somewhat quieter. It was more like she was merely thoughtful than slow. "Travelling has always been a problem for me and Dada." She still called her old man that? Huh. "So I read up on suspended animation and came up with this. It cools me down into hibernation and then warms me back up when the pod is opened."

"Hey, that's cool, Elsa," Shaggy said, genuinely impressed.

"Yes, Elsa has taken to mad science quite well over the last few years," Miss Grimwood said, pride evident in her voice. "You can thank her for all of the new additions to the school, as well as the phone in my room and study." Elsa chuckled and rubbed the back of her neck, a blush rising up her cheeks.

Despite being made of salvaged parts, Elsa had grown since Shaggy had last seen her, her height now level with his own. However, the softness of youth had still been worn away to leave only wiry muscle and angled features that somehow gave an impression of determination and wisdom. Her hair, once a two-foot beehive, now hung to her shoulders in a curtain that hid some of her facial stitches, the white streaks framing her face. In place of her old dress and shirt, she wore a green turtleneck sweater covered by a brown blazer, with cargo pants and sturdy boots finishing her look.

The atmosphere was shattered by a piercing wail that lanced through the school, adrenaline flooding Shaggy and Scooby's bodies. Even Elsa and Miss Grimwood jumped at the sound, though they seemed less surprised. "It seems Phantasma has found Tanis asleep in her coffin," Miss Grimwood noted, lifting a finger to her lips in thought. "I can't believe I forgot that she'd be coming alone this year."

"Like, what was that shriek, though?" Shaggy asked, his voice trembling just a bit. He wasn't scared, per se. More like he'd had a burst of irrational panic. Scooby's teeth stopped chattering as it wore off of him, too.

"Phanty took wailing lessons from a banshee last year," Elsa explained. "She was crazy for it when she first figured it out. All the wailing, she gave Winnie's howls a run for her money. But it helps that it's the only thing that wakes Tanis up anymore."

"Yes, banshees have a uniquely powerful wail. It causes a spike of panic in any who hear it," Miss Grimwood supplied.

No sooner had she finished then Phanty returned, Tanis racing along behind her. Shaggy oofed as Tanis slammed into him in a hug. He chuckled and knelt to properly hug her, the image not-unlike a child hugging a favored uncle. He pulled back a bit to get a better look at her, old big brother-like feelings of concern welling up.

Tanis was still small for her age, which was understandable considering she was from Egypt; they didn't get very tall at the best of times. She was still wrapped in bandages, as befitting a mummy, but unlike before the wrappings ended at her hairline, allowing a bob of midnight hair to fall to her chin. Rather than a dress woven from her bandages, she had taken up a simple linen sundress that would not have looked out of place on the ancient Nile. In addition, she had given up her pink hair bow in favor of some golden jewelry — a bangle on each ankle, a cuff bracelet on one wrist and a chain on the other, as well as a golden necklace and a circlet resting on her brow. But her eyes, blue as sapphires, were as innocently adorable as ever.

"Hey there, Tanis." Scooby greeted. "Not so little anymore, eh?" Tanis giggled and hugged Scooby's neck as well.

"When Phanty said Coach Shaggy was back as a werewolf, I thought she was joking," she admitted. "But now you're back!" She actually bounced for joy at that.

"So that just leaves Winnie and Sibella," Elsa noted.

"Oh, speak of the devil, Elsa," a sultry voice echoed through the room. A large bat with purple fur fluttered down from the rafters, a halo of muted light flaring around it before growing and dissipating to reveal Sibella. "Coach Shaggy, it's good to see you again."

Vampirism seemed to really have taken hold of Sibella's growth. Her skin was a paler shade of lavender than before, and her figure had developed in a way that would give any red-blooded man (and many women) ideas. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, and her lips fuller. Her curtain of calf-length hair, so dark as to seem highlighted in purple, had been cut to her waist and was bound in a loose braid. Unlike her simple dress and sash, she now wore a deep purple off-the-shoulder dress and a dark red leather corset that hugged her figure, a slit in the skirt revealing red heels, and a black choker adorned her neck.

"Nice to see you too, Bel," Shaggy said, utterly unfazed by her looks. Then he realized something odd, even for her. Unlike the rest, except for Miss Grimwood, she didn't seem at all surprised by his "changes"; she'd had no problem realizing who he was. He decided to save any questions for later.

As Shaggy considered that, Scooby did a quick head count. "One, two, three, four, five …" Six and seven, counting him and Shaggy. "Hmm, where's Winnie?"

No sooner had he asked, than a familiar howl echoed across the grounds.

* * *

As her trademark howl faded into the distance, Winnie upped her pace even further. Some might call entering the grounds from the far side counterproductive, but it gave Winnie more distance to burn out her energy. Ha, fat chance! But she could always try before she mowed down her friends.

One would think that a virtually non-stop run from northern Colorado, spanning over a hundred hours of top speed would tire her out. But "one" would be wrong. She'd only taken breaks when she'd been too sleepy to run — and because her papa had made her promise not to push herself too hard.

Winnie bared her teeth in a grin when the school came into view. As the wind ruffled her hair, it brought a collection of familiar scents. The musty smell of Tanis and her tomb — the sterile, somewhat metallic odor of Elsa — the faint scent of ectoplasm from Phanty — and the smell of lavender overlaying graveyard soil of Sibella. The smell of fresh cooking and parchment, as well as the general swampland from Miss Grimwood — the musk of snakes and charcoal from Matches.

And something … different. Something unexpected.

Winnie skidded to a halt as the new scent clicked. She'd smelled it many times during her travels with her papa, and now her instincts were it screaming at her. _Werewolf_. Her ears folded back as the fur along her arms ruffled. _Intruder_. A group ambled out of the school in the distance, each silhouette easily recognizable … except for a tall figure who moved to the front.

Winnie growled and poured on the speed, ready to tear this intruder on _her_ territory to shreds. But right before she could make the lunge — "Winnie!" Said werewolf was shocked by her headmistress's clear anger, stumbling and rolling across the grass to slide before her friends. She growled, more in frustration than pain, and shook herself off before looking up to meet Miss Grimwood's stern gaze.

"Now, Winnie, is that any way to treat an old teacher?" she asked, arms crossed.

"Werewolves," Sibella chuckled. "Always leaping before looking."

Normally, Sibella's teasing would have gotten a rise out of her, but Winnie was too focused on the other werewolf. Hackles still raised, Winnie stood and shifted her stance, fangs bared and claws flexed as she growled in warning. The interloper growled right back, his stance mirroring hers. The others had formed a loose ring around them, stunned by the sheer _tension_ in the air.

After a few more moments, the newcomer shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Like, what am I doing?" he asked aloud. Winnie paled beneath her fur, her stance dropping immediately.

"Coach?" she asked hesitantly.

"Heya, Winnie," Shaggy chuckled with a wave.

"And Scooby-Doo," Tanis piped up, leading the Great Dane forward by the collar. Winnie blinked owlishly at the two familiar faces — well, kind of familiar for the coach. She stared for a moment at the transformed Shaggy. Now that she knew what to look for, she could recognize the planes and angles of his face beneath the fur, remembered the mop of hair that had only become messier in his current state, noted the shift in his eye color from completely brown to tinted with red.

And even as she examined him, Shaggy noted the changes in Winnie. He determined that she had embraced her tomboy side as she grew. She was about average height and packed with lean muscle. Her hair, still coppery red and curly as ever, had been cut down to what could possibly be called a pixie cut. And she seemed to have adopted "savagery" into her wardrobe, with her worn-looking baby blue sleeveless shirt and denim shorts that had been artistically shredded at the knee, footwear absent just as before. The fiery spark in her eyes had only grown brighter as well.

"Well," Miss Grimwood said with a crisp clap that drew everyone's attention, "now that everyone has arrived, how about we begin settling back into our quarters?" Her words dissolved the last of the tension in the air and made everyone chuckle. Phanty floated beside Elsa, offering to help her unpack since she herself had no need for luggage, her offer readily accepted. Sibella was in turn offered help by Tanis, and was grateful for the company.

As Miss Grimwood placed a hand behind Winnie's back and led her into the school, Hand and the school's octopus butler arriving to help her with the duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, Winnie didn't take her eyes off of Shaggy. When she finally lost sight of him and Scooby heading for the kitchen, she couldn't help but think of the book her papa had been reading before she left.

The Mother Moon, it seemed, really had adopted a child.

* * *

Shaggy swallowed thickly as he flipped the slices of sausage he had cooking in a frying pan. The day after he had agreed to return to coaching at Grimwood, he and Scooby had had a long discussion with the headmistress about "mainstream" food, and the fact that they couldn't live solely of monster food.

Miss Grimwood had been remarkably understanding, recalling long-buried memories of her own transition to monster cuisine. She assured him that, given his newfound state of being, he would eventually be able to adapt. But, until he chose to do so, she would provide a grocery stipend for himself and Scooby. They had used that stipend yesterday and loaded up an old project of Elsa's, an electric ice box, with what they would need.

Shaggy took a deep breath of the fragrant steam, though it did little to distract him from his current problem. When Winnie had arrived, something in him, the wolf side, had reacted almost … _violently_. He had locked up, a haze settling over his mind, an unrecognizable snarl ripping from his throat in a display of territoriality. Only after a few moments of this standoff had his reason reasserted itself.

And the implications terrified him. It seemed that despite his apparent progress his wolf side was gaining more ground, burrowing deeper into his psyche. If he hadn't come back to himself, what would have happened? Would he have attacked one of his students, one of his _friends_? Would she, with far more experience, have ripped him apart before he could stop her? And how would Winnie, with loyalty to put a dog to shame, have reacted when she had realized what she had done?

Shaggy caught himself on the counter as he grew faint, almost blacking out as he hyperventilated. With practice honed by years of solving mysteries in his youth, he pushed back the fear and regained a semblance of control. A pressure at the side of his leg brought him back to the present, Scooby-Doo looking up at him with concerned eyes and a pitiful whine.

Shaggy laughed and rubbed his ears, the mere act of laughing pushing back the dregs of his panic. With a few deft movements of his spatula, Shaggy had two stacks of sausage on plates, one for each of them. Scooby leapt up and snatched his plate to head to the dining room, followed closely by Shaggy.

As the duo dug in, Shaggy couldn't help but feel grateful for Scooby's presence. No matter what insanity he endured as a werewolf, he knew his best friend would be beside him. And a quick swipe at Scooby's offending paw trying to snatch some of his food assured him that nothing had changed between them.

* * *

Deep within the Barren Bog, far removed from the Grimwood School, rubble from the collapsed mountain fortress of the infamous and long-dead Witch of the Web sat within the heart of the bog. Slabs of brick wall, the charred remains of wooden rafters, and shattered remnants of implements of witchcraft lay strewn about with no order.

Among these many artifacts was an overturned bronze cauldron, protecting the faintly charred husk of a wand. And for the first time in five years, the wand glowed with magic. Spidery runes carved along its length began to glow faintly red, a spell long-since imprinted finally taking effect. The spell, crafted to endure the test of time, had rather specific criteria.

And finally, those criteria had been met.

Amber mist began to seep from the wet ground of the bog, gathering around the wand. When it reached the lip of the cauldron, identical runes flared up along its rim, strengthening the spell. And while it may not be strong now, the spell would wax with time, fueled by hate and rage from the one who had cast it.

As the runes on the wand and cauldron faded to a faint glow, the spell going dormant after the initial trigger, the bog went _silent_. Nothing stirred, nothing dared to draw attention to itself. An oppressing sense of … malevolence … had settled upon the clearing. And from that foreboding, what might have been called a warped chuckle seemed to come from nowhere.

 **Hope you all like it so far! Any ideas about where this is going, or opinions? Leave a review!**

 ***To answer Nox Descious's question, Fred, Velma, and Daphne will not be appearing in the bulk of this work. If for no other reason than I'm already juggling a large number of characters. I would be interested in a series of one-shots post-work, though. If anyone is interested in that, let me know.**

 ***Werewolves, in my mind, are heavily influenced by instinct (details will be given on that later). That was why both Winnie and Shaggy got all intense when they met.**

 ***What's up with the cauldron and wand? I'm sure all of you can guess.**

 **Thanks for reading! See ya next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The next morning, at the crack of dawn, Shaggy paced back and forth in front of his students. Each young lady was dressed in a matching gym uniform of a grey sleeveless shirt and gym shorts, as well as a sweat band and running shoes. Shaggy briefly wondered what they would need with sweat bands, as Elsa and Winnie were the only ones "alive" enough to feasibly sweat. Then he decided that it didn't matter if it made the girls happy.

"Okay, ladies," Shaggy said, his voice carrying, "before we begin, let's get our stretches out of the way. Can't have any of you pulling a muscle." He chuckled under his breath, unsure if that were even possible for any of them. But they could always use work on their flexibility. And it never hurt to be careful.

Shaggy demonstrated the forms he had used during his time as a high school gymnast, the movements burned into his muscle memory from years of repetition. Every now and then, he would call on one of the girls to fix their form, but overall he was impressed with how fast they picked it up. Step one, check.

"Now then, like, now that I know you're all flexible," Winnie snorted at that, drawing a pointed look from Shaggy, "let's work on stamina." Sibella cleared her throat, the corners of her lips turned upward. 'Hmmm, seems teenagers are all the same, human or monster,' Shaggy thought. "Let's get it going on the track." Tanis giggled and covered her face with embarrassment. Oh god, not Tanis, too! Maybe he should start thinking before speaking.

He pointed out the tangle of arrow-capped posts dotting the gravestone-strewn grounds. "You'll all start at the post painted blue," he began. "Run forward, following the beaten path," that had been a pain to scratch out barehanded, but easier with his new claws, "until you reach the next post. Like, from there, you'll follow the arrows."

He turned to face the girls. "For today, I want each of you to complete this as fast as you can. It'll give me a baseline for your top speeds. We'll do the sprint again right before our match with Calloway to see how much you've improved. Everyone got it?" Tanis raised her hand, eyes wide.

"Will you not be running with us, Coach?" She asked.

"I will be, starting tomorrow," he answered. "For today, I have to get a read on how each of you girls run so I can see where you need improvement."

With that cleared up, all of the girls agreed. "Alright, line up!"

Each of the girls took place at the starting line. Was it a coincidence, or did they intentionally line up from tallest to shortest? Shaggy shrugged and primed his stopwatch, glancing up as Scooby approached with a clipboard and pen to record the girls' times, a green visor shading his eyes like an old-school accountant. Velma was right, what a ham. As he looked up to examine the girls' stances, he caught Winnie looking back at him. Wait, was that … concern in her eyes?

"And … go!" he shouted.

The first off the line was Sibella, moving like a grey-and-lavender blur. She had to pause for a moment to change direction at each post, but that was the point — to test their reactions. He'd have to talk to her about curbing her powers when necessary.

Winnie, naturally, was in second place. She ran on all fours, the traction of her claws letting her make sharp, quick turns. Her raw speed wasn't at Sibella's level, but her agility was making up for it, helping her close in. Well, she definitely had stamina. But she could use work on her running form.

Phanty was third in their line. He had a feeling that lack of wind resistance played a part. Heck, she may not even "run" like anyone else. From what Miss Grimwood had told him, ghosts (or phantoms, in her case) were ruled by willpower, rather than any form of material force. But he figured these runs would still sharpen her skill with _that_ , even if it didn't help her stamina. Did spirits even _have_ stamina? He'd have to ask at some point.

Elsa was in fourth, her gait so repetitive as to almost be robotic. Her limbs moved like pistons, never varying. She was fast, sure, less than a foot behind Phanty. But he had a feeling that she wasn't moving as _well_ as she could, her stride was too measured, too forced. Hmmm.

Lastly was Tanis. She wasn't tripping over her bandages, which was always a good thing, but her short stature meant her stride was not as long. For every step that the others took, she had to take two. Three, in Elsa's case. And that seemed to be wrecking her self-control. Unlike Elsa, who was _too_ measured, Tanis was tearing at the turf, almost desperate to catch up. And the worst part? Her panicked approach only robbed her of more speed.

As he continued to examine their forms, the girls hit a stretch that put their backs to him. And all of a sudden, Shaggy wasn't at Grimwood school. _He ran through the forests, mist hiding the ground and softening the outlines of the trees. Adrenaline coursed through his body, but more than that was the thrill of the hunt! It burned in him, pushed him. And before him was a tender doe, a limp robbing her of speed. His pack would eat well tonight!_

"Shaggy!" Scooby shouted, tackling him to the ground. Shaggy struggled for a moment before cold reality hit him, breaking him from his trance. He had gotten three steps in, the turf actually pocked from the force of his footfalls. He'd been ready to run down his students?! Shaggy shook himself from head to toe and swept up his stopwatch, refocusing on the exercise. Crazy wolf instincts or no, he had a job to do!

Shaggy called out times as they crossed, Scooby writing them down with his recovered clipboard. Sibella, predictably, crossed the finish line first. And skidded a good ten feet, at least, before being able to stop. Again, he'd have to help her with her control. Winnie crossed not ten seconds later, also skidding but far more skillfully. Phanty and Elsa were next, the gap between them having grown by a few seconds. And finally, little Tanis.

He gave them a little time to catch their breath. Sibella stood tall with her hands behind her back, trying to maintain her decorum even as her breath came in short bursts through her nose. Winnie, in utter contrast, was splayed out across the grass, her mouth hanging open like a dog's. Seemed she hadn't fully recovered from her marathon back to the school after all. Elsa was bent at the waist, her hands on her knees as she tried to quell the burning in her legs. Phanty had her eyes screwed shut as she rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers, as if warding off a headache. And Tanis … well, at least she seemed to have gotten a hold of herself.

Shaggy took the clipboard from Scooby and wrote down his observations to think on later. "Alright, ladies. Sun's coming up and you've got gardening and breakfast before your first classes. So one lap around the moat to cool down, and then go get changed." The girls nodded and began jogging to dive into the moat, the infamous two-headed shark avoiding them like the plague.

As he gathered up his equipment to return to his room, Scooby butted his head against Shaggy's thigh. Shaggy looked away in shame, and no small amount of fear. Not panic, like he had grown so used to as a teenager. But deep-seated _terror_. Terror at what was clearly happening. The initial transformation hadn't been the end of it, nor his senses. Now his _mind_ was being drawn ever further into this madness.

Shaggy sighed and rubbed Scooby's head, drawing strength from the support of his lifelong friend. "You think everything'll be okay?" he asked.

"You bet, Shaggy!" Scooby replied. 'I hope,' he thought nervously.

As the pair made their way back to the school, Shaggy cast his gaze over the bare skeleton of the volleyball court. He smiled as he remembered the decisive game five years previous. And as he imagined what it would be like now … he frowned in concern. The girls were grown, or closing in on it. And he didn't think that the cadets next door would be so keen on volleyball at their age, much less the girls.

And then there was the fact that the cadets would be _teenage_ boys by now.

As he chased that proverbial rabbit, Shaggy thought over possible alternatives. And as he turned it over, he had an idea. "Scoob, we need to talk to the colonel." After a few strides, Shaggy turned on his heel and headed back toward the school. "After we ask Miss Grimwood."

* * *

After gym had been dismissed for the day, Matches was free to roam the grounds again. The dragon, now more of an adolescent than a hatchling, growled in delight as he slid along the ground, his body undulating like a snake even as his powerful limbs dug into the ground for better control.

While all dragons grew quickly in early life, often in bursts, and never stopped slowly growing after that, Matches was one of very few dragon species that truly metamorphosed as they reached maturity. Rather than the large-bellied amphibious creature with a limp crest resembling hair, Matches was now a perfect example of his race.

While standing, Matches' shoulder reached the height of a small horse. After his metamorphosis, his form more resembled a massive serpent, with the addition of powerfully muscular limbs capped in ivory claws, though retaining the webbing from his youth. His head was more triangular, and decorated with small spikes of bone that lined his strong jaw. His back and the ridges of his limbs were traced with similar spikes, as was his tail that ended in a wicked serrated spade. And aside from his usual green, his scaly hide had been shot through with streaks of red.

Matches sauntered to the point where he had watched the coach guiding the girls. He sniffed the spot, his long forked tongue flicking out for extra analysis. Honestly, Matches was on the fence with Shaggy and Scooby's return.

One one hand, he was a dragon, and dragons were nothing if not territorial. The arrival of another predator, even one who didn't realize or accept it, was an affront to his instincts. And though he was younger than any of them, even Tanis, Matches was very protective of Miss Grimwood and the girls, who had loved him since he had hatched. In a very real way, he considered them his siblings, his nestmates.

On the other, he'd never had a problem with Shaggy, and he'd eventually gotten over his childish grudge against Scooby, thanks in part to letters from Scrappy (who kept in touch even after he'd been adopted). And he knew in his belly that neither of them would ever let harm come to the girls if they could help it; that had been proven beyond any doubt when they'd risked themselves to save them from Revolta.

As Matches wandered the grounds with his thoughts, he perked up at the familiar sound of the next-door cadets training. With a mischievous grin that bared his pearly fangs, Matches quietly sunk his claws into the concrete wall that had long-since replaced the ineffective hedge separating the two schools. He climbed as far as needed before peeking over.

In the five years since Shaggy and company's departure, Calloway's Military School had stayed about the same, as well. Only the students seemed to grow. Rather than children, they were now strong young men, their softness stripped away by equal parts puberty and the colonel's ever-more-demanding training regimine.

As he watched with mild interest, Matches thought back on how the cadets had changed in the last few years in regards to his nestmates. Whereas before they had been spiteful and antagonistic, things had changed with time. Now, the boys tended to get all red when they saw the girls. It reminded him of himself when he was preparing a particularly strong burst of firebreath. But something told him this was … different. _Then_ came the teasing.

Needless to say, Matches' opinion of the neighbors had improved very little. The only one he could bring himself to not antagonize was the youngest, Baxter. Whereas his fellows teased the girls to no end, he tended to remain quiet. And he often watched Tanis, for some reason or another.

Odd, but at least he was quiet.

As he thought about these things, the colonel himself strode onto the training field, the cadets of all ages saluting. The colonel, whom Matches liked little more than his cadets, began droning on about things like "courage" and "honor" and other things that mere mortals couldn't fully grasp. Not like a dragon! Matches slowly grew bored and released his hold on the wall, landing lightly and making his way back to the school.

Judging by the sun's position, lunch should be starting soon. And with his size, power, and heat, Matches' appetite had grown to match.

* * *

Miss Grimwood wasn't coming to lunch.

When the girls had been released from their second class, History of Monsterdom, they had all descended the steps and left the school building for the outdoor lunch table, as they had done every day for anywhere between six to ten years. They had been greeted by the smell of pirana gumbo, the dish Miss Grimwood always made to celebrate their first class day.

The first few minutes, as the girls served themselves and circled the table, were not unusual. Miss Grimwood was their teacher in almost every subject, aside from mad science (which Elsa had taken over as an aide) and, now that Shaggy was back, physical education. As such she usually took a bit longer than the girls to get to lunch.

It was after another ten minutes that they realized she wasn't coming. That was unusual. Miss Grimwood had told them several times over the years that if she hadn't arrived for lunch within ten minutes, they were to eat without her. But they could count on one hand the number of times that had been necessary.

"Guess she got bogged down in paperwork," Elsa said. That seemed possible, even probable, so the girls dug in. Though with less enthusiasm than normal. The absence of Miss Grimwood's bubbly self left a kind of void in the routine of the afternoon meal, one that bred faint awkwardness. And that led to silence even among the closest friends.

Silence that gave Winnie unwelcome time to think.

After gym this morning, and what only she knew had occured, it had finally sunk in that their most beloved coach was now … like her. Sure, she'd gotten defensive when she'd first sensed his presence, stood her ground like all werewolves did when meeting a stranger of their own kind — but she'd have done that to any stranger that posed a threat. Her friends were her pack, just as much as her papa.

It was during their run that it had finally hit her. She'd known, without knowing how, that Shaggy's new instincts would flare up during their run. And toward the end, she'd felt it. Her hackles had risen in alarm, her instincts warning her of a powerful predator setting his sights on her pack. It had only lasted a few moments, and she was pretty sure they'd been too far away for the others to see anything ... but she knew.

His other side was beginning to truly show itself.

All werewolves who were bitten, rather than born like her, had and would struggle with the transition. It was always bad at the very beginning, during the first transformation. The mind was taken by surprise and subsumed by the wolf, creating a feral creature ruled by impulse. Her own papa, back when he was still Larry Talbot, had gone through that in his hometown in Wales.

After the first lunar cycle, the subject's self began to learn to fight back, to acclimate. The instincts that drove wolves — the urge to hunt, to defend its territory, to be _free_ — would still rise up at the slightest triggers. But if their will was strong enough, they could regain control of themselves. If they weren't strong enough, they would be consumed by the beast. This was the real cause of "clinical" lycanthropy, and the victims were more dangerous than any other.

Winnie herself had been spared this grueling process. She'd been born with the Moon's blessing (she detested the use of the word "curse", even if it was technically accurate). Her instincts had been stronger from the time she was a child. And following her third birthday, during her first full moon, she'd finally experienced the Change. She'd discovered, as she called it, her True Self.

But if her papa's books on werewolf lore, purchased from mystics and others all over the world, were accurate, Shaggy wasn't really a "Bitten" werewolf. No, he'd been blessed by the Moon directly, in a sense "Born" into lycanthropy. Like her, he'd be stronger, faster, and more powerful than the others; his werewolf form would feel just as natural as his human one had.

But it also meant that he hadn't time to adjust. He'd be going through the same adjustment as one who had been bitten, or at least something comparable. Which meant … he'd need a guide through the coming weeks.

Before Winnie knew it, the half-hour break for lunch was over, punctuated by the distant tolling of the grandfather clock Elsa had built when she went through her "clockwork" phase. As she carried her plate to the discard tray, hastily eating as fast as she could on the way, she caught Sibella looking at her, worry in her emerald eyes.

"Winnie?" she asked, quietly so the others wouldn't hear.

"I'm fine," Winnie growled. She appreciated Sibella's concern, she really did. But this was a matter for werewolves. And if the ancient customs of the monster community, so old as to almost be law, stressed anything, it was that the various Kin had a right to deal with their own problems. If Winnie refused her help, Sibella was stalemated.

Sibella sighed through her nose and followed the rest of the girls to their next class. Mad science! Winnie grinned, the expression touched with ferality. Now that was something she always enjoyed! Pushing her dilema to the back of her mind, she rushed to catch up to her friends.

She'd talk to the coach later.

* * *

Miss Grimwood drummed her fingers along the surface of her desk as she considered Shaggy's proposal. While a part of her was hesitant to change their tradition, the coach had given some valid arguments. "You realize we must postpone the date to make preparations?" she asked.

"Yep," Shaggy affirmed. "I've thought it all out, and with Legs helping out, we'll definitely make it. Like, the colonel can even help me design the course, since I'm sure he'll want a piece of the action."

Miss Grimwood grinned at that insight into the colonel's character. After a few more minutes of thought, she nodded. "Very well, Coach Rogers," she said. "You have my support." She held up a finger. "On the condition that you make all of the arrangements, which means negotiating with Colonel Calloway."

"Meh, I figured you'd say that," he shrugged. With a gesture toward Scooby, Shaggy stood and left the chamber.

"And _you'll_ have to inform the girls," Miss Grimwood added.

Shaggy paused mid-step. Uh-oh, he hadn't considered that. Shrugging it off, he decided to get the first part down. He still had to convince the colonel to agree to his proposal. And as he left the school for the academy, he had to wonder to himself …

Would that be the hard part … or the _easy_ part?

 ***In regards to the girls laughing at Shaggy's comments, let's face it. They're teenagers. It's gonna happen. And for the record, the first one happened by accident and I just rolled with it.**

 ***I tried to "customize" each of the girls' running problems based on their kin and their personalities. How'd I do? My heart bled for Tanis as I wrote this - I can't help but feel that she'd be somewhat desperate to measure up to her older friends. We've all been there at some point.**

 ***Shaggy's "episodes" are inspired by the struggles of Perrin Aybara from "Wheel of Time" and the Winter Knight from "The Dresden Files". Both struggle with predatory impulses, with Perrin's in particular more wolf-like. I figure it's a trait of all werewolves. His struggle will be an on-going plot line.**

 ***Yes, I overhauled Matches' design. Personally, I really like how it turned out. In this, he was a hatchling during Ghoul School in what amounted to the terrible-twos. Now he's a "late" teenager *gasps in horror***

 ***I like to think that Miss Grimwood takes a personal interest in the girls and spends quality time with them, both as individuals and as a whole. She's like the cool aunt none of them have.**

 ***Clinical lycanthropy, the psychological belief that one is a wolf, is a real thing. I thought it tied nicely to this concept.**

 **Hope y'all like the new chapter! Questions or comments - leave a review. It makes my day to see that notification! See ya next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

To most who knew him, Colonel Carmichael Calloway, retired from the army, was the picture of a traditional soldier. His father had been in the army before him, as had his father, and his father, and so on the the very birth of their great nation. He had served with distinction, as evidenced by his quick rise through the ranks. And his retirement had been surprising, but understandable.

After retiring, he had taken up command of the Calloway Military School from his father, who had enjoyed his remaining years in peace, God rest his soul. And he had held his students, mostly boys from military families, to the most rigid standards he could reasonably expect. His time as a drill sergeant had served him well in that regard.

And as expected of a distinguished military man, he kept his emotions well under control, never letting his temper rule his actions. Unless, of course, he were barking at slacking or distracted students. In that arena, he allowed himself to indulge a bit.

As such, when confronted by a young man covered in thick hair and dressed in ragged casual clothing, his nails and hair untrimmed and smelling somewhat of dogs, he kept his mild revulsion to himself. No doubt the boy had been raised by hippies or some such nonsense.

"So you're the new gym teacher over at Grimwood's?" the colonel asked. The retired-lieutenant that acted as one of his staff had informed him of this young man's reasons. The question was merely to get the proverbial ball rolling.

"Well, like, returning coach, really," the young man replied easily. "I'm really not surprised you don't recognize me, colonel. I've changed a bit recently. And after all, it's been like five years."

Five years …

"Mr. Rogers?" Calloway exclaimed, losing his cool front in his surprise. This … hooligan, for lack of a better word, was the Grimwood coach responsible for their loss so long ago? Granted, he'd moved past any real shame from that loss, and his behavior after was not something he was proud of in the slightest. But more to the point —

"What on earth happened to you, son?" For god's sake, the man's toenails were sticking out from his ripped shoes!

"Oh, y'know," Rogers said somewhat tensely, "just life and stuff." He took a moment to scratch the side of his face before continuing, the motion oddly canine in appearance. "But I'm sure you're wondering why I decided to pay a visit?"

"Yes, yes of course. I'm assuming it's got something to do with the annual game?"

Rogers grinned. "Well, you're kinda right and kinda wrong, colonel. See, I've been giving it some thought, and I'm sure you've figured that volleyball isn't exactly the most, uh, _manly_ sport for military cadets."

Calloway carefully hid a grimace as the coach's words brought his recent thoughts on the matter to the forefront of his mind. Yes, in the last year or two, he'd begun to think exactly that. Oh sure, for pre-adolescents it was fine, but volleyball wasn't very _dignified_ for young men. But he was a stickler for tradition, and that had kept him silent on the matter during his discussions with Miss Grimwood.

"I can't help but agree with you there, Rogers," he conceded. "I'm assuming you have an idea for an alternative?"

Rogers nodded and handed over a sealed manilla folder he'd been carrying. Calloway opened it and removed an outline for his proposition. He skimmed the hand-written document, his eyes steadily widening with intrigue.

"Like, it's kinda rough at the moment and I'm sure you'll want some input and all, but I think this'll be good for both schools," Rogers said.

"Mister Rogers, I have to admit I like this idea," Calloway said. He stood and offered a hand to seal the deal. "I'll be over sometime next week to settle the details, such as the new date."

"Sounds great, colonel," Rogers said with a grip that set Calloway's teeth on edge in its strength. Where did this stick of a man get that kind of grip?

"Affirmative. If that's all, I must bid you good day." With that, Calloway turned on his heel and left the room. He had to find the five cadets, the aptly nicknamed "fearsome five" to inform them of the changes.

* * *

After their mad science class was the girls' "study hall" period, a time when they could pursue whatever they wanted as long as it was conducive to learning. Phantasma, as per usual, used this time to work on her compositions. She contained her customary mad laughter with practiced ease, her father's words about "musical decorum" running through the back of her mind as her nimble fingers skimmed over the keys looking for inspiration.

Phanty hummed as she stumbled upon a good intro and wrote down the notes for later, then decided to settle into something familiar. _Carmen's_ Habanera spilled from her fingers, the famous tune filling the music chamber and soothing her. As her hands went through the motions, Phanty let her mind wander.

It was so good to have Coach Shaggy back! Well, even with the dull ache in her spectral head from pushing herself. But really, that was a good sign, right? It meant that he was doing his job. "No pain, no gain," as the mortal phrase went. (She was pretty sure.) And even if she had no actual muscles to build, she knew she'd benefit from it all just like her friends.

And to make it even better, now the coach was like them! Or, like Winnie at least. But he wasn't mortal anymore, so it counted. Kinda. How had he become a werewolf? And why was he in werewolf form during the day, like Winnie? Phanty would admit she wasn't even close to an expert on werewolves, but didn't they get turned by a bite unless they were born into it? And Shaggy had definitely not been born in.

Curious. Well, maybe the coach would discuss it when he was ready. Or maybe she'd badger Winnie for answers. Whichever came first.

As she wound down Habanera, she moved on to a passionately elegant piece she'd seen while sneaking into a mortal movie about pirates. The tune had touched her not-heart as it was played by the film's undead squid-crab captain.

As she finished off the tune, Phanty turned her head at the sound of the music room's door creaking open to allow Miss Grimwood in. "Beautiful, Phantasma. Just lovely. I do hate to interrupt, but Shaggy is calling everyone to the garden. He has an announcement for all of you." And with that, she left to presumably inform the rest of the girls.

Phanty squealed in excitement as she hurriedly took her music journal back to her room. Being a phantom really came with advantages, especially when you learned to phase solid stuff along with you. With her journal safely hidden, she flew through the wall and headed for the garden.

What surprise could the coach have for them?

* * *

As the girls gathered around Shaggy, Miss Grimwood herself settled into a rocking chair on the back porch, Matches' head in her lap. She smiled as he settled them all down and began to explain his recent idea.

"An obstacle course?" Winnie asked excitedly.

"Whatever for?" Sibella asked.

"What's wrong with volleyball?" Tanis asked. She was generally uncomfortable with change.

"Like, in order," Shaggy said with a grin, "Winnie, it's more like an obstacle _race_. Sibella, to replace the annual volleyball game. And finally, nothing is really wrong with volleyball, Tanis." His smile faded to a look of seriousness. "I just figured the colonel was getting a little iffy about his boys playing volleyball." He bit his lip for a moment before sighing. "Besides, I doubt those boys have the best intentions these days."

"They've never had the best intentions, Coach," Elsa spoke up. "They teased us, demeaned us, they even _cheated_."

"That's, uh, not what I mean, Elsa," Shaggy said, rubbing the back of his neck as the fur on his cheeks began to rise. Miss Grimwood crooked an eyebrow at the reaction, something that replaced mortal blushing in werewolves. Was Shaggy that embarrassed to explain his real reason? He'd been so blase about it when he spoke with her, and his concern for the girls' wellbeing had been the main reason she'd supported the idea.

Winnie burst out laughing as she presumably realized what Shaggy was implying, drawing surprised glances from the rest of the girls. Which, of course, only made her laugh harder. "Oh, man. I needed that," she croaked, flicking a tear from her eye. "So what's the plan with the obstacle course?" she asked. Miss Grimwood grinned at the sight of Sibella glaring at Winnie. Vampires, ironically, hated being left in the dark.

"Okay," Shaggy said. "Anyway, because everything needs to be planned out, we're postponing the actual event. Which is really a good thing, since it means more time to get into running shape. We'll be working on your speed, endurance, and reaction times, as well as general fitness. Any questions?"

Tanis raised her hand. "Will we know the layout of the race?"

"Nope. But neither will the cadets. The colonel and I will be designing it, and Legs with help build it. The trick is that only one student from each school will go at a time, one gal and one guy. They run the course and reach the end, grab a token from the far end, then run back. The racer passes the token to their headmaster, then the next in line starts. Whichever team gets all five tokens to the starting point first wins!"

All of the girls looked at each other, turning the idea over in their heads. Winnie, predictably, was the first to speak up. "Count me in!" she shouted.

"I love it!" Phantasma cried.

"It sounds delightfully unorthodox," Sibella agreed with a smile.

"Sounds like a plan," Elsa consented.

All eyes turned to Tanis, who was kneading one of her loose bandages in thought. She looked up when she noticed all of them looking to her.

"Like, we don't have to do it if you don't want to," Shaggy assured. "I just thought you girls might like to try something new."

Tanis looked down and continued thinking. After a few more moments, she looked up with determination in her gaze. "Let's do it," she said. Shaggy grinned and gave her a thumbs-up, and Sibella placed a comforting arm around her shoulders, pride in her eyes.

"Alright," Shaggy resumed. "Since we have more time to prep, we're gonna make the most of it. From now on, we have gym before _and_ after classes. I'm gonna whip you girls into shape for this and show those uptight cadets exactly what this school is made of! Who's with me?"

As the girls chorused a cheer, and Miss Grimwood laughed with motherly joy. But even as she laughed, a part of her remained concerned. Van Ghoul had called upon her a mere week ago. He hadn't given a time, so for all she knew his prediction could happen months from now.

But she couldn't help the feeling that something was … stirring … in the winds of fate.

* * *

As the darkness of night fell over the Barren Bog, and the ruins of Castle Revolta, the clouds parted to reveal a third quarter moon. The half-light of the moon shone down on the black mud of the desecrated ground and soaked into the cauldron in the ruins' center. And with it, the makings of a dark spell.

Any who took up the study of the mystic arts learned quickly that magics were often influenced by powerful changes in nature. The alignment of certain stars or planets, the transition between the seasons … or the phases of the moon.

Even those with a minimal familiarity with the supernatural knew the power of the full moon. It brought out primal energy not just in werewolves, but in everything; even humans, who had distanced themselves from their roots, could feel this strongest of nights. And the light, the simple pale light illuminating the darkness, brought strength to healing and protection spells.

Much like its opposite, anyone could also sense the power of the new moon, the darkest of nights when destructive magic was at its finest. Most often associated with curses, it was also a strong aide to exorcism and banishment. Concealment and illusion were also strengthened by the darkness.

But what fewer understood was the power of the phases between the two extremes. The first quarter, as light began to overcome darkness, was a balance for white magic. And the third quarter, when darkness overtook light, was a time for black magic. Black arts such as, say, the reanimation of minions.

As the half-moon shone its pale light upon the bog, the cauldron's runic etchings once again began to glow, this time with blood-red light. The wand settled in it began to shine like a torch, even twitching as it fulfill its purpose; that of a tool to focus and control magic.

Mist like rust arose from the depths of the bog and snaked forward to latch onto something shriveled and desiccated, dragging it closer to the cauldron. Though made of something akin to vegetation, no creature had dared approach to eat it with its mere presence rank with malevolence.

As the husk was drawn within mere feet of the cauldron, the vessel shook and righted itself, the wand inside flying out to drop close to the husk. Putrid green fire erupted beneath the cauldron, preparing for a task far worse than merely heating a vessel for potions. The wand shuddered and slowly rose from the ground, wobbling in air as if in shaky hands.

The woods of the bog grew still and silent, life holding its breath in morbid awe.

The wand began to wave, arcane power swirling above it like wretched storm clouds flickering with lightning. The wind picked up and the green fires beneath the cauldron were swept up into the vortex. As the horrific dance of elements rose to a crescendo, the powers met and were braided into a tight weave before descending into the husk.

The lump twitched and writhed, vine-like appendages sprouting from its sides in a rough facsimile to animals and spines emerging along what would be its back. And with a wet tearing sound, a wide crease opened up to reveal a maw full of fangs, and a single blood-red eye jerked wide and staring.

The monstrosity, known to some as the Grim Creeper, gasped in a mockery of first breath and wriggled onto what passed as its feet. The creature hissed at the ache that pulsed along its body, identical to the last time it had been animated. Wait … the last time? That meant … it was alive again?!

As if to make sure, the Creeper examined its limbs and the potato-like vessel that served as its torso. It — he! — was alive again! But how? He had been animated before only by the black magic of his creator, the infamous Witch of the Web. If he was once again alive …. It could only mean one thing!

"Revolta?" it squeaked. A low, bone-shilling cackle emanated from the ground of the clearing in a voice that was unmistakable to the Creeper. "Mistress, you are here!" it cried for joy. And with the unnatural perception of artificial life, he knew that his mistress was tired from her spellwork, ready to sleep once more.

But the Grim Creeper, even as he was, was still a plant. And plants were nothing if not patient. "Rest now, Mistress Revolta. Soon your strength will return, and all of Monsterdom will quake with your wrath!"

And just before the faint noise of the night began to return, he thought he heard her sadistic, gleeful sigh.

* * *

Those who studied the arcane did so for countless reasons. Some did so in the simple pursuit of knowledge or enlightenment. Others did it for power, whether nefarious or benign, for destruction or protection. Others did so simply because they were good at it, choosing to live their lives to their strengths. And that only covered a few of the many.

But only those who studied for pure reasons cared to learn one powerful truth: Magic was just as much a reflection of the world as a component. It was, despite claims to the contrary, an aspect of nature, a force of the supernatural. In its rawest forms, it was one of the forces that animated the undead such as vampires and mummies, that blessed werewolves with their gifts.

And it was tied just as strongly to ghosts. And on the night of a quarter moon, when the eye that watched over the night was in balance, it allowed dormant ghosts to awaken for a buried purpose.

Such was the force that shone upon the grave of one Colonel Norman Beauregard. Silvery mist, tinted with blues and purples, rose from the soil of his grave and coalesced into the visage between his prime and his late life. The time when his beloved nephew Norville, or Shaggy, had known him.

With his consciousness guided by the binds and ties of a purpose unfulfilled, the ghostly colonel turned to the west and placed his spectral hat upon his head, his milky eyes narrowing in focus and his visage growing more distinct.

The secret of his bloodline had finally revealed itself. And as the last of those who knew, who had believed, it was his duty to pass on that very knowledge. Dead or not, it seemed the land of the living was not quite finished with him yet.

Before the colonel could move toward the beacon of his purpose, the click of a firearm pierced the night. The ghost turned to see a scruffy young man in rags and an oversized hat trembling with a long out-of-date blunderbuss rifle. "G-g-get on outta here, spirit. Yer a Beauregard ghost, and our feud's still a'kickin'!"

With a contemptuous grin, and will hardened by his military training in life, he snatched the gun and shattered it in his grasp. "Get off ma property, Scroggins," he said, his voice both deep and faintly echoing, thick with Southern drawl. "Y'know, 'fore the residin' ghosts find'n get ya." With a hearty laugh, he disappeared into the night.

Billy Bob Scroggins, pale as a sheet and trembling like a leaf, collapsed into uneasy sleep. He was found in the morning by his darling sister and never spoke of what he'd seen to anyone. Just as he never again set foot on the Beauregard plantation for as long as he lived.

 **New chapter! What do you think of the new inter-school game? I thought I'd do something a little different.**

 ***I decided to give Calloway a break and make his refusal to turn over the volleyball trophy a moment of weakness due to shock. One that he is regretful of in hindsight.**

 ***I'm trying to show pieces of each of the girls' lives in this fic, rather than sticking to just Shaggy and Scooby or just a few of the ghouls. And I've looked up Carmen's Habanera on the organ; it actually sounds really good. **If it wasn't obvious, Phanty was also playing the organ piece by Davy Jones in Pirates of the Caribbean. I've always liked that tune.**

 ***As for the cadets, remember that they're teenage boys. For reference, their ages range from 14 (Baxter, the youngest) to 17 (Jamal).**

 ***I've come to really like writing the parts with Revolta. And soon we'll get to see Miss Grimwood using magic. (In my head, she's a "hedge-witch", a weak-but-skilled witch. And witches and other magic-users are honorary members of Monsterdom.)**

 ***Finally, a reference to the "Boo Brothers" film. The very end hinted that Shaggy's Uncle Beauregard really was a ghost, so I thought I'd incorporate that. And this ghost will have some important information of their family history. **To clarify, I'm assuming that the colonel was Shaggy's mother's much older brother. Hence why they don't share a last name. And according to many types of folklore, things like magic and curses are often passed from the mother's lineage.**

 **As always, I hope you guys liked it! Leave a review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

As the week wore on, Shaggy was good on his word to start getting the girls in shape. Every morning was started with a jog around the border of the school grounds, the pace measured to focus on endurance. Where their forms were off, Shaggy worked to correct them. It was here that Elsa in particular shone, her measured gait better suited to jogging than sprinting.

After a brief rest and water break, they stretched and then hit what Phanty had nicknamed the Labyrinth. Here, just as on their first day, they tested their sprinting and reaction times. Though Shaggy was mum on the details, he had dropped hints that the course for their obstacle relay was far from smooth.

After another break and then a cool-down lap around the moat, they moved on to tending the garden and then breakfast and classes. The girls saw little of Shaggy during these times, though they occasionally saw him from the windows of the classrooms roaming the grounds, seemingly sizing it up for who knew what.

After classes ended, it was back to gym. Rather than focus on running, Shaggy focused on their strength with weight lifting, wall chains, chin-ups, and the like. And through it all, from the morning to the afternoon, Shaggy did far more than simply bark instructions. He exercised with them, showed them the proper form, sweated and ached alongside his students.

And though they could not see it in themselves, Shaggy could see the beginnings of their progress and was proud of them for it. Unlike most teenagers of any kind, who would resist change or defy or disregard authority, the girls took his observations and lessons to heart. And it showed in their performances even after only a week.

As the group finished the final arc of their morning jog and headed for the rest area, Shaggy gathered them to explain how weekends would operate. He knew from Miss Grimwood that they still took weekends as free days, to rest and study and pursue their hobbies. Given that, he had decided to do something similar. He handed out instructions for aerobics and breathing exercises that the girls could practice at their leisure.

"Yes, Coach," the girls chorused.

As they rested, Winnie looked up at faint crescent in the sky. Soon enough, that would shrink down to nothing, to the darkest of nights when werewolves were, in a sense, at their most human. And it was the best time to broach the topic of the "quirks" of being a lycanthrope.

* * *

Next door at the Calloway School, the mirrors to the Grimwood girls, the five cadets known to most as the Crew, were carefully observing their rivals. While the colonel didn't officially promote this tactic, he didn't go out of his way to stop them either, citing it as exercises in gathering intelligence.

Of course, being teenaged boys, the cadets also used it for more than just military-esque intel.

"Eyes on the enemy?" Tug asked, his back to the concrete wall.

"Affirmative," Miguel said distantly.

Tug rolled his eyes at the distracted tone, that more than anything confirmation on setting his sights. As the resident tinkerer, Miguel generally had first dibs on using the various devices he built. "So report, Miguel," Tug commanded, his years of experience in leading his friends lending a sharp bark to his voice, not unlike the colonel's.

Miguel tore his eyes away from the visor to the periscope. "The girls are resting, their morning jog finished," he answered assuredly, Jamal writing down his words and the time on his watch. The boys had been observing the Grimwood exercise regime for the last week and debating on how effective it might have been.

Frankly, they were grudgingly impressed at such sudden improvement. And the fact that Colonel Calloway had announced that their coach was the one who had ensured their single victory was not exactly good news for their record.

"You know, maybe instead of observing them," Baxter, the youngest, interjected, "we should be working on our own skills." Baxter crossed his arms with a narrow-eyed glare to add to his point. Over the years, he had become something of Tug's second-in-command, his down-to-earth common sense often keeping their various schemes grounded.

"Ah, c'mon, Baxter. You worry too much! We'll slaughter those girls like we have every year," Grunt said, punching his fist into his palm for emphasis. Of all of the Crew, Grunt had always been the most assured in their skills and their victory, which was always good for morale. But that confidence had to be checked with realism, which was Jamal's specialty.

"Baxter's got a point, Tug. We all remember that dark horse victory brought on by this very coach. And this year it won't be volleyball. The new set up gives us precious little frame of reference. If we want to win, we gotta make sure we're up to scratch. Not just against the girls, but _period_."

Tug thumbed his chin in thought. After a moment, "Miguel, playback the recording of their coach's plans for the weekend." Miguel did so, and Tug nodded as he came to a decision. "We'll observe every Wednesday and Friday for reference, to see if we need to step up our game. Otherwise, we focus on ourselves." He looked around, making eye contact with all of them. "Clear?" he asked firmly.

"Clear," they chorused.

"Excellent. Now," he snatched the periscope from Miguel, "my turn to 'observe'." As the boys rearranged to put Tug in the center of their arrangement, Tug altered the focus of the scope onto a certain green-eyed vixen.

Oh the things they did for intel.

* * *

After formal classes and second gym, the hour or so before dinner found Tanis in her crypt practicing her own hobby. One that was not only a family trait and talent, but linked to her very being as the undead. One of the few things left that kept her connected to the time she had been born in.

Magic.

Tanis sat with her legs crossed and her head bowed, one hand in her lap holding a statuette and the other gently holding the charm on her necklace as she whispered incantations in her native tongue. The charm was shaped into a scarab, a symbol of immortality that formed the basis of the curse that animated mummies. The statue was in the shape of a dark-furred canine figure. Anubis, the god of embalming and protector of the dead. In essence her kin's greatest patron.

Unbeknownst to modern historians, the Ancient Egyptian clergy had long known that their beings they prayed to were not "gods" in any real sense. They had not been responsible for Creation, nor did they look upon mankind with any real sense of love. Frankly, the best common folk could get was dutiful aid or patronizing affection, like pets. Only the priests had any real respect, having learned to bargain with them for power.

The "gods" were, in actuality, simply very powerful spirits. They had risen from the Sahara desert on occasion to vanquish monsters for their own amusement and had been worshipped by the masses. This had strengthened them, and even helped mold and solidify their identities. And as worship made them stronger, they had become protective of that source of strength in mankind.

But that had been long ago. Now, with mankind's only knowledge of them coming from diluted myths and depictions in film, the gods had lost much of their influence. Which meant that those who remembered them, like Kharis and Tanis, were ever more invaluable. Their magic, which harnessed the power of the gods themselves, also acted as the closest thing to worship that they could get anymore, besides the faint trickle of power that came from their place in mortal culture.

It had become something of a symbiotic relationship. The former gods provided power in the form of more powerful or specialized magic, and the faux-worship granted them nourishment in the long run. Granted, mummies could use their own power to use magic, such as animating their bandages, scrying, or telekinetic bursts, but with the lack of focus on it, these often amounted to parlor tricks. Their patrons offered strength to truly _do_ things.

As she finished her incantation —something she herself had come up with that amounted to asking the god of embalming and the dead 'How was your day?' — Tanis turned her head at the sound of her door, the only piece of wood along the walls of her room, creak open to reveal Scooby-Doo.

"Hi, Scooby," Tanis said brightly, carefully wrapping her statuette in linen and placing it in a bronze chest.

"Hiya, Tanis," Scooby replied in his guttural voice. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Practicing magic," she answered honestly. Scooby's eyebrows shot up at that. "Yeah. You wanna see?" Scooby hummed as he thought it over, then nodded enthusiastically.

Tamping down her nerves that always came with performing before an audience, Tanis shook herself out and placed her left hand on her right arm above the wrist, her palm centered on a charm hidden in her bandages. Though no one else could see it, it depicted a dark-furred canine sitting on a podium. Another symbol of Anubis.

" _Anubis_ ," Tanis intoned, an invocation of his powers. For a moment, she wondered if it was a good idea to invoke him simply to show off, but brushed it aside. She wouldn't take much and he'd get his nourishment; it'd be fine. Probably. As if in answer, Tanis shuddered as she felt the comforting stream of Anubis's power flow into her from the charm. Mortals would have called it icy, sticky, or uncomfortable, but to her it was familiar. It was the power of the guardian of the dead, _her_ guardian.

A guardian that seemed to know that the best way to protect someone … was to help them protect themselves.

As the power flowed through her, Tanis did as she had many times before and focused on it, linking it to the material plane to influence her surroundings. She turned her hand palm-up and the shadows in the crypt deepened, truly _deepened_ , before began to flow into her outstretched palm like threads of dark smoke. The shadows condensed into a sphere before it stretched into a long shape that finally solidified into a khopesh, an Ancient Egyptian hooked sword.

And behind her, in place of her own shadow, stretched a massive image of Anubis, his body and limbs humanoid and his head that of a wolf with a wide headdress, its arms spread wide as if protecting her. Or showing her off to the world.

With a tap of her foot and a bit of her own magic, a large stone jumped from the flooring and into the air. Tanis jumped and spun through the air to slice her khopesh through the stone. A half-second passed before the stone fell apart into two pieces that broke against the ground.

"Wow," Scooby said, his insides warring with awe at Tanis's display and self-preservative fear at the power he had just witnessed. Fear that was brushed aside when he remembered that this was _Tanis_. Sweet, adorable, shy, caring Tanis who wouldn't hurt a fly.

Tanis took a bow and released her link to Anubis as Scooby clapped, even whistling for her. Her khopesh disintegrated into black dust that disappeared before touching the ground, and the shadows in the room returned to normal, the image behind her fading away.

Glancing at an enchanted miniature obelisk that acted as a clock, Tanis smiled as she noted it was almost time for dinner. "Ready to eat, Scooby?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Scooby shot up and wagged his tail, moving to the door only to stop and wait for her. Tanis giggled and hugged Scooby's neck. "Race you!" she shouted, bounding through the open halls of the school.

Scooby chuckled and moved to follow, to show her exactly how outclassed she was with the right motivation — when he froze in place. Scooby gulped as a tingling feeling ran up his spine, like he was being watched. He slowly turned back to the room to find a massive shadow cast on the wall … in the shape of a canid-headed man. The only thing not-dark about it was its eyes that burned with amber light.

Scooby's teeth chattered as the shadow seemed to just look at him. It narrowed its eyes … and disappeared. Scooby woke up a few seconds later, not remembering having fallen and only hazily recalling what had just happened. Wait, what _had_ just happened? He'd watched Tanis practice her magic, she called a race to the kitchen … then what? Scooby stood up and shook himself. Tanis's calls caught his ear and he raced down the hallway, leaving the weird feeling behind.

And as he left, a carving of Anubis on the wall flicked its eyes back to center, as it had originally been carved.

* * *

As everyone served themselves from Miss Grimwood's frog-and-nettle stew, Shaggy took a deep breath of the smell of cooked food. Strange food, of course, but perfectly edible. And, he had noticed, far more enticing since he had returned. Could it have been a part of his transformation? Did it really matter?

It was food!

Shaggy scooped up a forkful of the stew, but right before it passed his lips, the toll of an old-fashioned clock tower echoed through the school. "Ah," Miss Grimwood said, "that would be the gate bell. I hate to ask it, Shaggy, but would you mind checking on that?"

Shaggy mournfully glanced down at his food for a moment before he smiled. "Sure thing, Miss G," he answered. As he stood up, he leaned toward Phanty to his left at the dining table. "If Scooby tries to snatch my food, you mind stopping him?" he asked lowly.

"Sure thing, Coach," Phanty giggled.

With that settled, Shaggy made his way through the halls of the house, over the drawbridge, and down the driveway to the wrought-iron gate flanked by gargoyles. As he neared, he found a young man in a denim uniform and decorative white smock standing at the gate next to a company truck.

"Hello there," the young man said. "Is Miss Grimwood available?" If he was surprised at Shaggy's appearance, he didn't show it.

"You caught us in the middle of dinner," Shaggy explained with a shrug before pulling the gate open and offering a hand. "Coach Shaggy Rogers. How can I help you?"

Apparently accepting his explanation, the man offered a clipboard and pen. "Sign here, please." Shaggy scribbled his signature and handed it back in exchange for a cardboard pallet of large aluminum cans, like extra-tall sodas. "Have a nice day," the delivery man said pleasantly, casting only a single nervous glance at the school itself, before loading up and driving away.

As he drove away, Shaggy got a good view of the van's logo — "Slaughter & Son Meat Processing."

Glancing down at the case in his hands, Shaggy turned, closed the gate, and returned to the school while pointedly _not_ thinking about what a slaughterhouse would deliver to the school. In _cans_.

Upon his return to the dining room, Shaggy gestured to the case in his hands. "Miss G, where do I put this?"

"Oh, wonderful," Miss Grimwood commented. "Just place those in the icebox in the kitchen."

"Actually, Coach," Sibella interjected, "if you don't mind." Sibella stood and approached before examining the cans and removing a particular one from the case. Only then did Shaggy notice that it wasn't blank, but inscribed with a symbol resembling cow horns.

Baring her fangs, Sibella sank them into the top of the can, jerking them out to leave two holes in the lid. "Thank you, Shaggy," she said before taking a sip and returning to her seat.

Whelp, no denying it anymore.

"Are these full of _blood_?" Shaggy asked, his stomach turning.

"Of course," Miss Grimwood answered. "As Sibella has grown, her need for it has done the same. I made an arrangement with the processing plant in town to deliver these in exchange for a small fee. For packaging and gas, really. They'd simply throw it out otherwise."

As she had explained, Shaggy had quickly stowed them in the kitchen's modified icebox/refrigerator, courtesy of Elsa's tinkering. "I always assumed vampires needed human blood," he commented as he sat back down.

"Oh, mortals have such a high opinion of themselves," Sibella commented dryly. "No offense, Coach."

"None taken," Shaggy grinned. He may not be mortal anymore, but that was a new thing. And he appreciated Sibella's courtesy.

"Anyway," she continued, "while human blood is the most—" she hummed as she considered her next words, "high-yield, I suppose one could say, most modern vampires subsist on animals. It's more ethical than feeding on sapient creatures, not to mention easier to arrange."

Shaggy nodded at the explanation, finding it actually helped his overall unease about the revelation. And to smother the rest of it, he did what he always did. He ate his food. With gusto.

And as the coach shovelled the stew down, Winnie caught Sibella's eye and grinned, flicking her fingers across her brow as if to say "that was close". Sibella scoffed at the silent teasing and returned to her own meal, savoring both the stew and her true sustenance.

* * *

As the sun set and cast the world into night, no moon shone from above. A night for the strongest of dark magics, both to work … and to gather.

From the heart of the Barren Bog, a green fire heated the Witch of the Web's bronze cauldron, the contents steaming with ethereal mist. Using a staff of cypress wood, the Grim Creeper giggled madly as he stirred the toxic brew. He had listened to his mistress's whispered instructions and gathered the needed ingredients over the last week. Now he had mixed them perfectly and brought the brew to its full maturation.

As he stirred the mix one last time, the Creeper felt the presence of his mistress grow. She was reappearing, to check on his progress and make the final preparations. Swallowing thickly, the Creeper lifted its appendages and whispered the spell she had whispered to him, using her wand as a focal point.

" _Roaming spirit, I call to thee — manifest and guide me! Cast away from the body to rot — work the spell that I cannot!_ "

The wind whipped up, fanning the flames under the cauldron to grow and lick at the rim. The Creeper dug his viney legs into the ground to anchor himself, gasping as he felt his energy drain away. His surface began to shrivel, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But almost as soon as it had started, he felt an icy presence trail over his back, restoring his strength.

The Grim Creeper looked up to find the faint image of his mistress, the powerful and feared Witch of the Web. Revolta.

"Well done, my Grim Creeper." Revolta's voice was like a sigh of the wind through the trees, faint and indistinct. But heavy with the power and confidence he knew oh so well. This was no illusion or madman's fantasy. Revolta was here!

The apparition leaned over the potion and spat a word in a harsh forgotten tongue. With a snap of the fingers of two left hands, the potion rippled and turned creamy white. And with the unnatural senses inherent in a constructed lifeform, the Grim Creeper felt the dark magic in the air and the earth, as strong as could be on the darkest of nights, begin to seep into the cauldron. The potion began to slowly change from cream to the faintest of purples.

"You're soaking up the magic," the Creeper realized. "Storing it up … for an even bigger ritual."

"Yes," Revolta cackled lowly. "Our next move will require great reserves. Far more than I can bring forth in my … current state. A few more black nights should do it. And then we can move forward."

"Toward what?" the Creeper asked, taken in by his mistress's confidence.

"Righting the wrongs dealt to us. And revenge." With that, Revolta faded away into the darkness to recover her strength. Even with the spell to invoke a spirit, it was difficult remaining corporeal.

As she faded away, the Grim Creeper continued to care for the potion. He glanced up at the sky, sneering at the stars, the pinpricks of light that dared to try and overpower the darkness. When dawn drew near, he would cover the cauldron and prevent the sun from undoing what had been done. And as time passed, the potion would fully mature …And oh how Revolta would be pleased with him!

As he thought of these things, he focused his unnatural life into his belly, soon coughing up a number of seed pods. Pods for venus spy traps. To know one's enemy was to have power against them, and if his mistress wanted revenge … there was only one group he could think of as the target of her hatred.

 **New chapter - Hope you all like it!**

 ***The cadets are at it again. I've actually been looking forward to writing that, whatever that says about my character. I mean, the scope thing has a precedent in the film. And I kind of like the idea that, like regular boys, they became attracted to the Grimwood girls after puberty set in. It's natural.**

 ***I tried to make the concept of mummy-type magic as unique as possible. Hope I did a good job. And Anubis may have a bigger role to play later.**

 ***Sibella's mode of feeding came to me while I was driving home from class one day. I wondered about how she would feed as she grew older and the solution hit me like a train. And I saw a good place for comedy, poor Shaggy. **Winnie's little "that was close" teasing was about freaking out Shaggy. None of the girls want to be the one to send him and Scooby running again.**

 ***Hope the GS's summoning of Revolta was good. My reasoning is that she doesn't have enough of a hold on her new state of being to properly work magic, but she can be "invoked" to get around that. What is she up to? We'll see soon enough.**

 **Thoughts? Questions? Leave a review - they help keep me pumped!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

As the stars began to fade from the sky, replaced by the faint grey glow of the coming sun, they bore witness to a sight few had ever seen: a vampiress honing her power. Sibella, dressed in a dark purple sleeved leotard and her hair bound in a large bun to keep it out of her face, held a curved sword in a ready position, her body unnaturally still as she prepared herself to act.

Faster than the eye could see, Sibella struck. Two halves of a crabapple sailed past her, her stance reset before they had hit the ground. Two more fruits flew at her from different angles, and she whirled her sword to slash them out of the air as well, the fragments joining the pieces littering the ground.

Before she could resume her ready stance, a final fruit flew in her periphery. Without thinking, she sliced it out of the air as well. Sibella's chuckle to herself as she took a handkerchief of wipe the juice from her sword blade was overshadowed by the near-maniacal laughter the came from Phantasma as she faded back into visibility. "It's always so much fun watching you practice, Sibella! It's so pretty, like a dance."

"Thank you, Phanty," Sibella replied, sliding her nineteenth-century cavalry saber back into its sheath. "I believe that's enough for this morning," she added, gaze focused on the rapidly pinking eastern treeline.

"Sure thing," Phanty agreed as she followed Sibella back toward the distant shape of the school.

As Sibella made her way back to the school, her eyes widened as her undead instincts screamed at her. With the grace of a jungle cat, she leapt into the air, flipping end over end to avoid a rope of blue flames. Landing lightly in a dancer's stance, her sword was drawn from its sheath to point at Phanty, who simply grinned as whipped her arm back to recoil the blue strands before dispelling them.

"Almost had you," Phanty giggled before fading away to presumably return to her room. Sibella laughed and once again sheathed her sword as she made her way back to the school house, and eventually to her own room. Phanty tended to follow up her practice with a surprise attack about one out of two sessions. She claimed it would help her defend at a moment's notice, and Sibella couldn't say she was wrong.

As she walked, Sibella glanced down at her sabre in its simple-yet-elegant leather and steel scabbard. It was a gift from her father, given to her when he had agreed to teach her how to wield it. In life, Count Dracula had been a relative of the famed and feared Prince Tepes, known to most as Vlad the Impaler. She grinned as she recalled that many believed the prince himself to have inspired the popular legend of her father, and conceded that they were not entirely wrong.

As a commander in the Wallachian military, the count had held his skills to a high standard to become one of the best combatants in the nation as a whole. His rising as a vampire had only enhanced his skills, which he had kept sharp ever since.

After she and her friends had been taken by the Witch of the Web, Sibella had asked him to teach her to fight, to defend herself and her friends. After all, it had largely been due to their coach and his dogs (and the Calloway cadets) that they had escaped at all. In light of these events, Dracula had agreed and begun her instruction the following evening.

In the five years since, Sibella had worked fiercely to hone her swordsmanship as well as her innate vampire powers. She faintly recalled, through the haze of the pacification spell, Revolta mentioning that she and her friends had the potential to become even greater than their fathers, and she was curious enough to test her part in that theory. On her own terms, of course.

As Sibella neared the school, a faint sound of displaced air caught her attention. Without thinking, she reached upward and caught a large wrench that had apparently fallen from the roof. She smiled and looked up, taking a moment to to think. And with a deceptively simple flick of her wrist, she sent the tool sailing back up to the eaves.

* * *

Elsa groaned as she heard the faint pitter-patter of her favorite wrench tumbling down the tiles of the roof. She stood from her latest project and crept to the ladder, only find it sailing back up up and over in what she could appreciate, as a scientist, as a beautiful arc.

She snatched it out of the air and looked down to find Sibella looking at her with her arms crossed. "Thanks, Sibella," she said, earning a wave before the vampiress moved to enter the school itself.

Spinning the wrench between her fingers as if it were a conductor's baton instead of a large piece of steel, Elsa returned to the center of the school's roof and resumed her earlier position and task. If the weather reports were correct, there was a sizable storm coming for the first time since the new term had started, and she needed to calibrate the school's lightning rod and the connected power cells before it hit in the next few days.

Some might have called fixing machinery on their day off a chore, but for Elsa it was an enjoyable hobby. This very device was her own creation — from design to construction — and she was happy to keep it up and running. Not to mention that a completely green energy supply that kept Grimwood's off the grid was a noble goal.

With a few more adjustments, Elsa nodded in satisfaction. Packing up her tool box, she slid down the ladder and hefted that onto her shoulder with minimal effort. She'd return the ladder to storage, check up on the power cells, and then … hmmm. Maybe she'd check on Matches.

Hold on, where _was_ Matches?

* * *

As the sun continued to rise, it found Miss Grimwood wandering the borders of the school grounds as she examined the protective spells and enchantments set into the walls. Matches wandered beside her, his senses open for any form of attack that may come to his mistress when she was distracted with her task.

Where Miss Grimwood's fingertips slid across the bluestone, the same material used to construct Stonehenge in Great Britain, lines of spidery runes glowed white-blue for a few moments before fading away. Miss Grimwood watched each line of runes carefully, her magical senses taught to snapping as she examined each layer of enchantment.

As she came to one of the pillars that seperated expanses of the wall, the woodland witch released a shuddering breath and wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow. "Time to take a break, Matches," she said with somewhat forced joviality. She sat upon a boulder that had been long-since placed here for just such a reason and thought over what she had found.

Overall, her enchantments were in excellent shape. After her students' kidnapping five years hence, Miss Grimwood had spent the following summer near-obsessively improving the protections around her school. She'd consulted with mages from a half dozen nationalities and disciplines (including Tanis's father) to find alternate wards, then spent a solid two months weaving them together into a net that would deflect or dispel any conceivable danger to her girls.

After that first summer, she'd relaxed and merely checked over her wards when she felt it was necessary. But with Vincent's warning, some of her paranoia was returning. When the girls had needed her last, she hadn't been there. With all of her knowledge, all of her skill, she'd been useless during their moment of greatest danger.

Miss Grimwood flinched as a sudden hot wind washed over her face, one that smelled faintly of grilled meats and charcoal. She looked up to find Matches looking down at her with rather un-dragon-like concern in his eyes. She smiled and scratched the dragon underneath his chin, drawing a rumbling purr from him. Miss Grimwood was observant enough to have noticed the support that Scooby-Doo had provided to Shaggy in the last few weeks and was grateful to have Matches filling a similar role — just as he'd done when she had first reinforced these wards.

Taking a water bottle from the stachel at her hip, the one that contained tools for her craft, Miss Grimwood dumped the cool contents over her head and shook the excess off, along with the fear that had slowly grown inside her. It would surely return, given time. But until anything happened, she'd focus on what she _could_ do: teach the girls and make sure they were protected in her care.

With that reaffirming thought, she continued her examination of the walls, Matches prowling along in turn. Whatever came, she had to have faith in her girls … and in her faculty.

* * *

After freshening up after her sword practice, Sibella had decided to look for the girls and give out the gifts she had either made or commissioned over the summer.

Tanis had adored her fleece sarcophagus-liner, which she had decorated with a traditional image of the flowing River Nile. She'd painstakingly sewn images of hieroglyphics along the edges of the liner, which (thankfully confirmed by Tanis herself) translated to "Good morning, Tanis."

Phanty had squealed over her new place to sleep, a hammock of iron chains coated in natural rubber. Iron, the poetic "bones of the earth", was among other things known to be one of the few substances that could touch a spirit or phantom no matter their state of tangibility, which was why it was often used in weapons or prisons against such things. The natural rubber acted as an insulator for the iron's burning effect, which meant Phanty no longer had to sleep merely suspended in midair.

And Elsa had been thankful for the portrait of a valley in the Carpathian mountains during a fearsome lightning storm. Sibella had chosen the site full-to-bursting with blooming flowers, then asked her father to help her create the storm. She'd worked especially to show the contrast of the dark clouds and white lightning with the colorful blooms, something Elsa had commented on as she hung the portrait in her room-slash-laboratory.

Now all that remained, aside from the poem she had written for Miss Grimwood, was Winnie's gift. Resisting the urge to listen in for a few moments, Sibella knocked politely before opening the door. Of course, had she known what would have awaited her, she would have tried to prepare herself. For this was something she would have never in a thousand years expected of Winnie.

Books, old-fashioned leather volumes from a half-dozen cultures, were spread out across Winnie's bed and opened to various sections. Winnie sat with her legs folded, a pencil behind her pointed ear and her eyes wide, bordering on frantic. In her hands was a piece of parchment and another pencil, twirling between her fingers with a distinctly agitated pace.

What on Earth?

"Winnie?" Sibella asked calmly. No response. "Winnie," she said more firmly. Still nothing. Sibella pursed her lips with concern before she gave the faintest smirk. "Guinevere Talbot!" she snapped.

Winnie dropped her pencil and looked up, an angry remark on the tip of her tongue. But her sense of reason seemed to return just before she could fire it off. "Don't call me that," Winnie said, with far less heat than usual.

Sibella smiled and sat on the corner of Winnie's bed. Anyone who knew Winnie for very long, assuming they could find out her full name in the first place, learned quickly and often forcefully that she didn't care for her full name. It wasn't that her father had named her after an old flame, she couldn't care less about that. It was that the name, in her own words, "sounded like a stuffy, repressed noble chick".

"I'm sorry to interrupt …" she gestured at the books and scraps of paper, "... whatever this is, but I wanted to give you a something." Sibella offered a felt bag, which Winnie took with a faint grateful smile. A smile that turned to awe at the sight of a bracelet braided from leather cords, the ends linked by bronze wolf heads biting a circlet, carved in Old Norse style.

"Thanks, Bel," Winnie said, slipping the bracelet on.

Sibella simply nodded before taking one of the books off the bed, speed-reading the page. Her eyes widened in surprise at the page's contents. "Winnie, not that I don't think it's wonderful that you're reading on a day without classes, but ... what exactly is all of this?"

Winnie looked away, her teeth audibly grinding together as she seemed to consider what to say. "The books are from my Papa," she said. "I sent him a letter the day we returned to tell him about Coach Shaggy and … ask how to handle that."

Sibella smiled as she realized what was bothering her friend, arguably her _best_ friend. She gestured at the paper in her hand, as well as a small stack in her lap. "You're going to try to guide him through his transformation," she surmised. Winnie's faint scowl was a better answer than words could ever be. She held out a hand, "Would you like me to go over it?"

"You don't think I can do this," Winnie accused, weakly. If Sibella had to guess, she'd say it was more Winnie herself who believed she couldn't do this.

"I think," Sibella said evenly, as assuredly as she could, "that you don't have to do this alone." Again, she offered a hand for the papers. After a few moments of token resistance, Winnie handed them over. Sibella flipped through them, reading quickly. "Hmm, do you think it is a good idea to tackle the history of werewolves right out of the gate?" she asked.

"I don't know," Winnie growled, rubbing her eyes.

"Perhaps," Sibella said thoughtfully, "you should begin with the basics."

"The basics?" Winnie asked.

"What changes will he still be going through?" Sibella asked, rhetorically. "To his body _and_ his mind? How can he learn to properly deal with them? How can he learn to channel his instincts?" She put Winnie's scribbles down. "Winnie, he's completely new to this, and that in itself is undoubtedly frightening. And you may be the only one with a chance to guide him safely through it."

Winnie ran her claws through her hair as she considered Sibella's advice. In many ways, she was not the ideal guide for Shaggy. She'd been born with her instincts, had had a lifetime to acclimate. He'd probably adjust better with someone like her Papa, who'd had to learn control from scratch.

But Winnie shook her head, as if the action would shoo those thoughts away. Her Papa wasn't here, and it was a solid two weeks before the full moon. She may not be the ideal choice, but so what?! She'd do what she always did and tackle the problem head-on. Winnie gathered the books and stacked them on her nightstand to peruse later, when she had an idea of where to start. For now, she'd just answer his questions to the best of her ability.

"Thanks, Sibella," Winnie said, grinning to show off her fangs.

"Any time," Sibella answered, baring her own.

As she turned to leave, Winnie's eyes widened as a thought struck her. "Hold up, Bel," she said, removing a specific book from the stack and flipping through it. She found the passage she needed and read over it, twice, as an idea unfolded in her head. With a grin, she looked up. "I need a little favor."

"When?" Sibella asked amusedly.

* * *

The evening found Shaggy scrubbing his hands and arms with dishwashing soap, grumbling good-naturedly about how he should have worn gloves. He'd spent most of the day fixing up the van — changing the oil, tightening the suspension, changing the brake pads, and any dozen other small things that he could think of.

Few realized that Shaggy had always been good with cars. Heck, almost all of the maintenance on the Mystery Machine had been done by him, with Fred taking over only on occasion. Shaggy stilled as he thought about his friends, wondering where they were, how they were doing. He smiled and brushed it off; no doubt they were doing great.

Inspecting the fur on his hands and forearms for any traces of motor oil, Shaggy pulled the drain of his bathroom sink, nose wrinkling at the sight of the blackened water. On a whim, he buried his nose into the hair and sniffed, coming away with only a trace of the smell. Meh, good enough.

As Shaggy settled at the wooden desk Miss Grimwood had arranged for his room and began to sketch ideas for the upcoming obstacle race course, Shaggy glanced over at Scooby curled up in his doggy bed. He thought over a question Scooby had asked earlier, about why he was spending the day fixing up the van.

"I can't control what's happening to me," Shaggy said aloud. "But I can work on the van. I can work on her 'till she's pristine. So that's what I'm gonna do." Shaggy laughed at himself, wondering if it had been healthy to shut himself in the garage for the whole day and work.

Well, the van was in as good shape as ever and he no longer had the excuse. Tomorrow, and every weekend from here on out, he'd have no choice but to spend time with his students. He laughed at the thought, as if that were some terrifying torture. The girls were great.

As he continued to sketch, Shaggy realized that he could have discussed his condition with Miss Grimwood. Or Winnie. The new moon had just passed, which he was pretty sure had _something_ to do with lycanthropy. And the full moon was well on its way, which _everyone_ knew was tied to it.

Shaggy held his head in his hands and sighed, the sound tinged with a feral growl — which only made his headache worse. It was too late to ask Winnie for help tonight. He'd have to find out if she had any time to help out her coach tomorrow.

As Shaggy resolved to do so, his ear flicked at the sound of the floorboards outside his door squeaking ever-so-slightly. Not a second later came three polite knocks at his door. Scooby's head rose from his doggy bed and he traded a look with Shaggy.

"Like, come on in," Shaggy called.

The door opened slowly, first letting in scent. Shaggy had become well-acquainted with the nuances of each of his students, and the faint tint of lavender and soil was definitely Sibella.

"Coach Shaggy?" Sibella asked politely. "Could you please come with me?"

"Uh, sure," Shaggy replied. "Like, is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. Please, follow me." With that, she turned and left. Shaggy traded another glance with Scooby before the duo followed the vampiress.

When they caught up at the base of the schoolhouse stairs, Shaggy voiced his concerns. "What's all this about, Sibella?" he asked. While both of them had long gotten over their fears regarding the girls, her behavior was making him nervous.

"It's about your newfound curse, Coach," Sibella said without preamble. "It's time you began to learn exactly what you are."

 **New chapter. Hope you all like it!**

 ***Revolta saying the girls could grow stronger than their fathers wasn't actually in the film, but it makes perfect sense. Why would she go to all that trouble for a SWAT team of weak monster girls?**

 ***The consensus on whether Count Dracula was based on Prince Vlad "the Impaler" Dracula of Wallachia has been spotty over the years. It has ranged from Dracula being the actual prince, to being a heavy influence, to Bram Stoker merely using the name. I thought I'd rework the concept a bit and make my own set up. Here, he's a member of the Dracula family but not the actual prince. **Sibella's weapon is a sabre, a sword that originally came from Eastern Europe, based on the Turkish scimitar (which Vlad the Impaler would have fought against), before being adopted by Western Europeans, most notably Napolean and his armies. It found use up until around the American Civil War. (It's a calvary sword built for slashing).**

 ***In my mind, Elsa is a genius with a keen interest in the sciences and spends her free time tinkering. Building machines, studying animals and plants, or modifying herself, it doesn't matter; she loves it all. And that will come into play later.**

 ***I've always wondered how Miss Grimwood reacted to the news that her girls had been kidnapped. I figure this is a somewhat understandable response. Don't worry, she'll have a larger role in the climax of this story than in the film.**

 ***Rather than the usual "Winifred", I thought I'd take a unique approach to Winnie's real name. (For the record, "Guinevere" can be shorted to "Winnie"). In-universe, Winnie was named after the character Gwen Conliffe, the female lead of 1941's Wolfman. **Sidenote, I like to think Old Norse art would appeal to Winnie - it's rough, practical, but beautiful in its own way. Plus, the old Norse cultures loved wolf motifs.**

 ***Shaggy's skill with cars comes from "Reluctant Werewolf". The Hunch Bunch spent presumably quite some time messing up the Werewolf Wagon and Shaggy was able to fix it in a matter of seconds. **Shaggy's line that "I can work on this car - so that's what I'm gonna do" came from Dean Winchester of Supernatural, in the season seven premier. I think it fits Shaggy's situation pretty well.**

 **Questions or comments? Leave a review! Let me know what you all think!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

After a brief stroll across the mist-strewn grounds of Grimwood, Shaggy found himself sitting on a large rock facing a merrily-crackling fire pit, Scooby settled next to him and hopefully just as stunned.

During the walk following Sibella to this very spot, Shaggy had been hard-pressed to realize just how dark it was. There was only starlight and a thin crescent moon to provide light, and yet to him it had been as manageable as a faintly overcast day. And that wasn't even the strangest part, oh no. Before his transformation, the ambiance would have left a faint weight of dread on Shaggy's shoulders. Not fear; his high school days chasing thugs in masks had seen to that.

But it ran even deeper than simple night vision and lack of fear. In the pit of his stomach, he felt … at peace. In his very bones, he knew that this time, the time of darkness, was _his_ time, the time to run, to hunt, to feed. The time to howl at his Maker in the sky.

It was only as they drew nearer to the treeline that the wind shifted and he caught the familiar smell of woodsmoke. A few twitches of the nose and he even knew just what woods were being burned: lots of oak, some pine, and a few branches of crabapple trees. And that was before he noticed the transition from faint starlight to less-faint firelight.

Sibella had finally led them to this very fire pit, crackling sedately, surrounded by larger rocks drawn close to sit on. Very recently drawn close, if the smell of freshly-turned soil was any indication. Shaggy had blinked when he'd reached that conclusion after less than a second. Jeez, what was up with his nose? Did werewolves just _live_ by their noses?

And so Shaggy had found himself sitting on one of the large stones, Scooby at his feet as she faced Sibella, her legs elegantly crossed in the picture of old-fashioned nobility, and (something that had stunned him when he'd first figured it out) a _human-looking_ Winnie!

Gone were the fur, claws and fangs of a werewolf. Winnie's bare skin was tanned, darker even than her fur had been, and her nails somewhat blackened. But otherwise, she looked about the same: average height, lithely muscled, hair as red and curly as ever. But on second glance, her eyes were different, too. Instead of burning red set in yellow sclera, they were golden amber. Like a real wolf's.

"Heya, Coach," Winnie said, her voice a touch smoother than usual. "Glad you could make it."

Shaggy took a moment to order his thoughts before replying. "Thanks," he answered absently, still trying to wrap his mind around this development. Really, it was taking longer for him to come to terms with this than it should have. "Uh, like, don't take this the wrong way, Winnie, but … well, uh …"

"How do I look human?" Winnie finished with a faint grin.

"Yeah, that," Shaggy said, relaxing a bit.

"Technically I can Change whenever I want. It's one of the perks of being Born into lycanthropy."

Shaggy's eyebrow rose as he somehow heard the emphasis in the word "Born," a subtle nuance radically changing the simple term. "Like, you weren't bit?" he asked, deciding to take this one question at a time.

"First," she said, holding up her index finger, "the word is Bitten." Again, the subtle emphasis, the importance of the word. "Second, no, I was not." Winnie frowned and absently scratched at the stone beneath her, eyes darting from side to side in thought. "Look, Coach, there's a lot you need to know. So, um, where do you want me to start?"

Shaggy looked down into the fire, leaning down to add some sticks from a pile. He thought back to the last few weeks, all of the crazy that had happened, the weird rising and falling like some demented roller coaster. He knew, without needing proof, that the wolf-side was real. And it's influence seemed to grow and shrink at random. It was terrifying, not knowing. But … maybe it wasn't where he should start.

"How did this happen?" The words slipped from his lips without him realizing, but they were exactly what he wanted to know.

Winnie glanced at Sibella before rubbing her eyes. "I don't know all the details. Bel was able to fill in some gaps with some stuff from one of her dad's old books, and my Papa sent some other books that helped, too. I think, in a way, you're like me. But your also not." She paused and scratched the side of her face, brows crinkled as she tried to articulate her thoughts. "You're halfway between Born and Bitten."

"What's the difference?" Scooby asked, head rising from the ground.

"Everyone knows about Bitten werewolves," Winnie said with a still-feral grin, which looked a bit unsettling in her human form. "A werewolf attacks and bites someone, and it transfers the condition. If they live through it, the power of the moon settles in and the wolf starts to take root. And then it comes out on their next full moon."

As Winnie explained the basics behind Bitten werewolves, Shaggy could clearly see the parallels between them and his own situation. Even now, he could feel the wolf side scratching away at the back of his mind. But the indelible truth remained: he had not been bitten. He would have _definitely_ remembered something like that. But even as she finished explaining the Born side of it, he was still confused.

"So which am I?" he asked. "Am I Born or Bitten?"

"You're both," Winnie said. "You're a rare third kind. Personally, I'd call it 'Blessed'."

"Blessed?" Shaggy asked. He wasn't sure that that was the term he would use.

"This is something my father stumbled upon," Sibella interjected. "It seems that every five centuries, the moon enters a perfect position to create new werewolves. And rest assured, this is not random. Not at all. Your Change was … foreseen."

Shaggy's eyes widened. "So that's why you weren't surprised when you first saw me," he realized. Sibella smiled tightly and nodded in affirmation. Shaggy scratched his head, trying to reconcile all that he had learned. "So … what? I was made a Born by the moon, but I still have to go through all the Bitten stuff?"

"Yeah," Winnie said. "That's pretty much it in a nutshell."

Shaggy absently began petting Scooby, the action reflexive as his mind whirled. With a humorless chuckle, he decided one more revelation couldn't hurt. "So how _do_ you look human, Winnie?"

"Born werewolves have more control over themselves," she explained. "We, and I do mean 'we' as in both of us, can Shift between our forms like slipping a glove on and off. Bitten werewolves have to practice Changing without the full moon. Even my Papa, one of the most experienced Bitten you'll ever meet, will revert if he falls asleep or gets too tired."

"So … hold on," Shaggy held up his hands in the universal "time out" pose, "you're saying I could be go back to the way I was?"

"In appearance only," Winnie stressed, taking a stick to prod the fire. "Even in our human forms our senses are sharper, our bodies stronger than normal humans." Her mouth twisted as if she'd bit into a lemon. "It's why I prefer my werewolf form. When I look human, everything seems like I'm underwater, muffled and just-" She cut off the sentence with a faint growl, one that lacked the menace of her normal self. In this shape, she sounded less like a wolf and more like a simple teenager.

"So … how do I Change back?" Shaggy asked. Sure, it wasn't a cure, but it would still be nice to look like himself again.

Winnie looked up and tossed away her stick. She lurched to her feet, her whole body tensing up. After a few seconds, she snarled and … Changed. In less than a heartbeat, with a flare of yellow light, her fur was grown back in, her nails lengthened into razor-sharp claws, her teeth grown into fangs. And her eyes were back to burning red. Winnie trembled for a second before belting a howl of joy, one that dissolved into laughter.

"That's how," she said, settling back into her seat. "But before you can Revert, you need to learn control of your new Self."

"Control?" Shaggy asked.

"Well, 'control' is … not the best word. I guess a better word would be 'balance'. You can't force your will on the wolf, you have to learn to work alongside it."

Shaggy thought that over. "That doesn't make any sense," he admitted.

Winnie rubbed the back of her neck as she tried to figure out a way to explain her thoughts. This was why her Papa would have been better to teach him. Balance had come to her like walking. It just _happened_.

"Perhaps," Sibella interjected, "it's like a handler and his dog. I believe mortals still have a strong bond with dogs, especially working dogs?" Shaggy traded a glance with Scooby, both thinking the same thing. They'd read articles on dogs with jobs, from herding sheeps and cattle, to search-and-rescue, to police and military jobs. Heck, with as close as the duo were, both had considered such a job as an actual career.

"I get what you're saying, Sibella," Shaggy said, "I'm just not sure I get how that's related to werewolf-ness."

"If I understand correctly, in such a relationship, the handler and dog act as a team. The handler gives instructions and guides the dog, channeling its instincts to serve a greater purpose. But in any case, one cannot act without the other. They must act in concert."

Okay, that made more sense. But it still didn't answer one big question. "How do I figure that out with my other side?" he asked.

"It's different for everyone," Winnie said. "Especially for you. Like I said, you're not any kind of usual case." Winnie looked up at the moon, instinctively gauging its position in the sky. And from that, the time of night. "I think that's enough for tonight," Winnie decided. "We can pick this up again tomorrow. Say, after breakfast?"

Shaggy laughed, really laughed, at that. "Sounds good to me," he said over Scooby's giggles. As he stood up, one more thing struck him as odd. "Hey, quick question. Like, I know why you're out here helping me with this, but why's Sibella out here?"

The girls traded a look and grinned in a somewhat-unnervingly similar way. With the familiar muted glow of shapeshifting, Sibella was replaced not with a bat, but with a lavender-furred wolf. Scooby yelped and jumped into Shaggy's arms before remembering that it was still just Sibella. Shaggy gave his dog a flat look before dropping him.

"So you can turn into more than a bat?" Shaggy asked. In retrospect, he should have known that. Everybody knew the legends of Count Dracula, including that he could turn into mist and a wolf, as well as a bat.

After shifting back to her normal form, Sibella nodded. "I learned that one the summer after you and the dogs last taught here. Not to mention-" Sibella's shape began to fade away, while fog rolled in from nowhere. After a few moments, the fog disappeared and Sibella was back with a smug grin.

"Show off," Winnie sniped.

"The air around this school is thick with envy," Sibella noted wryly.

Shaggy held back chuckles at the girls' antics, the familiarity of it helping to ease his mind. But, given the hour, it was probably time to hit the hay and think over everything that he had learned.

"Hey, how about a race back to the school?" he suggested. "Whoever wins gets extra credit for gym." The girls glanced at each other before bolting off, a pair of blurs racing toward the house on the hill. Scooby chuckled when he realized that Shaggy had no way of knowing who would win.

"C'mon, Scoob," Shaggy said, taking the time to properly douse the fire before making his way back to the school at a more leisurely pace.

"Right behind you, Shaggy."

* * *

As the duo began making their way back to the school, they were unaware of the modified venus spy traps watching them from just inside the treeline, just beyond where the circle of firelight had ended. In the Barren Bog, the Grim Creeper giggled as he severed the link between the spy traps and his mistress's scrying mirror, which he had found miraculously intact among the castle rubble.

"Oh yes. The cursed coach and his dog have returned. And as a whelp of a werewolf, no less. What do you think, Revolta?"

The wind picked up and the air above Revolta's simmering cauldron began to distort. After a few moments, Revolta's image appeared in the fumes of the cauldron. "So, the coach has become a werewolf. What a fascinating turn of events." She cackled lowly in her menacing way as she appeared to wring her hands. "Oh, to crush not one, but two powerful werewolves under my heel and bend them to my will."

"Your power will be even greater than before, Revolta," the Creeper giggled.

"Patience, my Grim Creeper," Revolta chided lightly. "So much to do and so few chances to do them. We must prepare carefully to have revenge," she rolled the 'r' in her fashion, just as the Creeper remembered so fondly, "and then we shall take what is rightfully mine." As she chuckled again, her visage faded from the air.

The Creeper chuckled along with his mistress and began linking the other patches of spy traps to the mirror. It had been difficult, vexingly so, to get them past the headmistress's new wards. But with a little forced adaptation and burrowing them under the school perimeters, he'd managed a few.

Now to watch and observe. The girls were stronger now, as was their sickeningly heroic coach, and he'd have to judge properly to report to Revolta. He grinned manically as he thought over the one invaluable advantage that his mistress possessed.

The Grimwood girls had no idea they were plotting away.

* * *

Miss Grimwood's eyes shot open as her left-hand fingers twitched of their own accord, a warning she had set up with her advanced wards. Taking her robe from the headboard of her bed, she crossed her chambers to the door of its adjoining room, her personal laboratory. Though she really preferred the term "atelier", much more befitting the mystics arts, "lab" was so more practical a term.

Much like Elsa's laboratory in the school science room, Miss Grimwood's lab had a large corner devoted to glassware and strange devices. However, unlike the science lab, Miss Grimwood used her equipment to brew potions, to craft mystic armaments and artifacts (her specialty), and to further her knowledge of magic. The rest of the room, with reasonable distance from the glassware, was decorated with bookshelves packed with grimoires and magical texts and scrolls, as well as various relics she was either studying or in the middle of crafting.

After lighting the ornate candle-lanterns around the room with a quick spell and a snap of her fingers, Miss Grimwood crossed her lab to an ornate table. The surface was covered with enchanted sand, glowing faintly green, that shifted to depict the school grounds. Fiery red depicted the borders of the grounds, while a square sky-blue mound represented the school itself. Colored gems stood in for her students and faculty, a different color for each individual — purple for Sibella, blue for Winnie, green for Elsa, colorless for Phanty, pink for Tanis, orange for Matches, red for Shaggy, and brown for Scooby-Doo.

Miss Grimwood waved her open hand over the sands of the model to form a three-dimensional image of the school, the gems rearranging to fit their subjects positions. Miss Grimwood sighed with relief at the sight of all of the gems faintly glowing, indicating the girls were in the school. Had the gems been black, meaning they were missing, she would have been worried sick.

With that question settled, Miss Grimwood again waved her hand. Points across the grounds turned golden-yellow and began faintly rippling, each linked to a large stone pillar at that point on the actual grounds. These pillars acted as nodes for something like magical sonar, sweeping the grounds for unfriendly magics.

After a few moments, numerous red dots appeared, each a focal point of unknown magic. Miss Grimwood narrowed her eyes and tugged at the thin chain around her neck to pull a small whistle from the folds of her nightgown. She lifted it to her lips and blew. But rather than sound, the whistle emitted a faint pulse of magic, one that Matches was trained to respond to.

After a few moments, Matches entered her lab using the mechanism she had installed to allow him in. The dragon grumbled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before crossing over to his caregiver. But all thoughts of sleep were cast away at the sight of Miss Grimwood's scrying table. At the sight of the red dots, he looked to her for confirmation.

"Matches, find whatever these things are," she ordered, firmly but not unkindly. "Bring at least one back for me to study. As for the rest …" She lifted an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting just a bit. Matches chuckled, the sound far deeper than the mischievous chitter from his youth. But remember," she added, "do not wake the girls." Matches grumbled, but nodded his understanding.

After giving Matches a few moments to leave the school proper, Miss Grimwood removed the cover of her own scrying mirror. With a touch to the silvery glass and a bit of magic, the face rippled and settled to reveal the image of Matches sniffing what looked like a patch of weeds. The dragon growled and inhaled, a faint red glow rising and bleeding from in-between his scales, before a spat a gout of flames at the patch. A quick glance at her table showed on red dot gone.

Such did the night go, with Matches dousing each and every site in purifying dragon-fire. Miss Grimwood had no doubt that Matches would find each one. He was a dragon, and bore the great intellect of his kind that included a bordering-on-total recall. And with her's and the girls' safety potentially at risk, she knew he wouldn't forget.

Finally, at the last one, Matches clawed at the ground and ripped free the tangle of weeds before dousing the furrows left behind in fire. Best not to leave any traces behind to regrow. Miss Grimwood let her scrying spell dissipate and waited for Matches to return. As an afterthought, she slipped on a pair of leather gloves carved with warding sigils that she used for handling unsafe materials and artifacts.

She'd get to the bottom of these weeds — even if it took her all night.

* * *

" _Prepare the girls, Creeper. The potion is ready." — "When the clock strikes midnight, those girls will be Revoltized!" — "The time has come … The change has begun. As anyone can plainly see, they're turning_ evil _just like me!" An evil face leered down and cackled, the sound bereft of any shred of kindness._

 _The dream shifted, the distorted colors of the past giving way to the horrific red tint of possibility._

" _Now, with my powers greater than ever before, I will have my revenge! The Grimwood girls and their meddling coach will be trapped in my web. And when they realize the futility of escape, when they plunge into the depths of despair, I shall feed upon them and grow stronger! Stronger than any monster before!" The cackle returned, louder and more manical than ever._

 _Flames filled the dreamscape, raging and consuming, until …_

Phanty gasped as she broke free from her trance, unneeded breaths wracking her spectral frame. Her visage was flickering in and out of focus, the phantom equivalent to trembling. She swallowed thickly, the action yet another reflex from life that only served to calm her down.

With a faint sigh, Phanty eased back into her new hammock, relaxing into the rubber-coated iron links that faintly rattled like a soothing lullaby. Only when she had stopped flickering did she cast her thoughts to her vision.

What few realized about spirits, phantoms most of all, was that detachment from the physical was more than a literal state. Just as living monks and mystics had strived to become for millenia, phantoms were susceptible to changes in the metaphysical, usually manifesting visions or dreams.

Not that spirits actually slept, strictly speaking. But phantoms had long ago learned to enter a form of pseudo-slumber. This sleep-like state allowed them to recharge their ectoplasm and to order their experiences. The soul was a powerful thing, one of the most powerful in existence, but even it needed to rest, to interpret what it had experienced and learned.

As she thought over all of this, she smiled at the thought of one of her father's stories from his time among the living. During his time with the a band of Romani, he had encountered a sect of mystics in modern-day India that had developed the skill to separate their spirits from their bodies to try and tap into this power, with limited success. Her father, then known as "Erik", had not added this to his long list of talents, but it was still a wonderful story.

Phanty's smile faded as she remembered the origin of these memories. Her very own premonition. She grimaced at the memory of the owner of that horrible (and not in the good way!) cackle. Revolta, the Witch of the Web.

But … it didn't make sense. Why was she having a vision of the past? And what did that last part means? Spirits, unburdened by the three-pound lump of flesh that housed mortal memories, possessed excellent memories. And she had absolutely no recollection of Revolta swearing revenge.

Phanty felt a chill in her stomach, not a good sign for a phantom, when a bleak thought crossed her mind. Had she experienced a taste of the future? The future, according to her father, was not fixed like the past. It was always shifting, possible outcomes changing and sprouting and withering in the thunderstorm of chance and free will. But could she have ... felt one such possibility?

Trying to push that thought away, Phanty turned over to her side on her hammock and eased into the not-burning iron. Her flickering resumed as her thoughts refused to settle, to allow her the sweet escape of slumber. To calm down, she began playing compositions in her mind, recalling with perfect detail her father's wonderful melodies. It helped, but it wasn't enough.

Perhaps logic would finish what emotion had started. She ran through the list of spirit types in her mind, cultivated under her the teaching of her father and Miss Grimwood. Phantoms, ghosts, ghasts, specters, wraiths, apparitions … The list went on, and the monotony helped her to relax.

After repeating the list a few more times, Phanty's thoughts began to wander. And, as they often did, they wandered her her friends. Sibella, Tanis, Winnie, Elsa … Matches and Shaggy and Scooby and Miss Grimwood …

As she yawned and settled down, her thoughts finally at peace and slumber finally settling back like a warm blanket, Phanty twitched as her mental list returned of it own accord. Her mind whispered to her the one type of spirit that she had intended to leave off the list, the one that frightened her most of all.

 _Hexengeist …_

And this, she failed to realize, was yet another warning ...

 **New chapter. With this update, I've run out of pre-written material - which means my update schedule will more than likely get more erratic. Sorry for anyone who has gotten used to weekly updates. That's just the way writing works.**

 ***This introduces more of the basics for lycanthropy ("werewolfism"). Yes, this will be a large facet of the story; I practically live to world-build, and this is an awesome opportunity. Don't worry, details of how the others work will emerge as well.**

 ***I had a lot of fun writing Miss Grimwood in this chapter. Developing her skills and her approach to magic makes my creative muscles flex, and it's such an awesome feeling. Frankly, this whole fic does that, too. Let me know your thoughts on her various tools.**

 ***Phanty's premonition came to me in an inspired flash. As a phantom, a spirit, she would be the closest to Revolta's state of being, and so more susceptible to any "warnings". Plus, I haven't written from her perspective in a while. **In case I hadn't made it clear, Phantasma's father is the spirit of Erik, the title character of "The Phantom of the Opera". And the sect of mystics was just from my own thoughts, somewhat inspired by "Doctor Strange". ***Ghosts/phantoms sensing the future has basis in real folklore: necromancy was originally about contacting the dead for advice or predictions (i.e. the Witch of Endor from the Bible or Tiresias's spirit in the Odyssey). Popular culture made it more about raising legions of zombies.**

 **Hope you like it! Questions or comments? Leave a review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 _Bang!_

Shaggy winced at a particularly loud crack of thunder, his ears faintly, briefly ringing from the noise. He flinched hard enough to fumble the fork in his hand, his bite of pancakes clattering back to his plate. A gutteral snarl escaped his throat, a primal reaction to discomfort.

He really needed to figure out how to get a leash on his other side.

Before taking up his fork again, Shaggy rubbed at his eyes. The storm had rolled in early in the morning, not even a full hour after he, Winnie, and Sibella had gone to bed, and the noise had kept him from any meaningful sleep. Of course, sleeping in storms had never been a problem before. But his amplified hearing made each peal of thunder sound far worse.

Shaggy's ear twitched as he felt numerous pairs of eyes on him. He looked up to find each and every one of the girls, not to mention Scooby, looking at him with concerned eyes. Another crack of thunder, and Shaggy grimaced. He noticed that Winnie winced, her ears lowering for a brief moment, and Sibella's eye twitch. Huh, seems it wasn't just him. They were just better at managing it.

That … actually made him feel a little better.

Another thing Shaggy noticed was the lights. With every extra-loud peal, the lights would flare just a little brighter for a few seconds. In his experience, lightning storms tended to make electric lights flicker and go out, not burn brighter. But then, not every place was Miss Grimwood's School for Ghouls. Probably more of Elsa's work.

"So, like, how long's the storm supposed to last?" Shaggy asked.

"All day," Elsa answered, smiling sympathetically.

"Glad I didn't decide on keeping up runs over the weekends," he laughed as he shovel more pancakes (homemade from scratch) into his mouth. All of the girls chuckled and the faint awkwardness evaporated, leaving everyone to chat between thunder claps and bites of — in the girls' case — mosquito pancakes.

As breakfast wound down, the storm outside seemed to only grow more fearsome. When the dishes had been cleared, Elsa excused herself to check on the power cells to make sure they were operating properly. As everyone else dispersed, Tanis stepped up to Shaggy, looking up at him with her soulful blue eyes. She wrapped her arms around his middle in a gentle hug and whispered, "I'm sorry you're hurting," too quietly for anyone else to hear.

Shaggy was surprised for a moment before he returned the gesture. He felt his tension ease and warmth rise in his chest. If there had ever been any doubt before, it would be extinguished now — these girls were great. Shaggy felt a tear escape the corner of his eye … and the warmth in his chest didn't fade. In fact, it grew stronger, and spread to his forehead.

The strange warmth cut off when Tanis broke the hug and smiled brightly before skipping off to who-knew-where. Shaggy staggered for a moment, catching himself on the wall, as a wave of dizziness washed over him and dispersed just as suddenly. What just happened?

After a shake of his head, he realized that Winnie was smirking at him with her hands on her hips. "Well, now I know what to cover next," she commented.

* * *

Knock, knock, knock.

"Miss Grimwood?" Tanis called. No answer.

The young mummy had not been the only one to notice their beloved headmistress's absence at breakfast, but she had been the one to volunteer to check on her. All of the girls were concerned — it was uncommon for her to miss lunch, as she had early on the first day. It was all-but-unheard of for her to miss breakfast. "The most important meal of the day," she always called it.

Tanis knocked again, this time more firmly. "Miss Grimwood? Are you alright?" Once again no answer.

After a brief moment of consideration, and checking the door handle to find it locked, Tanis lifted her hand and willed one of her bandages to unravel from her index finger. After a few loops were free, she willed the length to twist and enter the keyhole, then re-expand. The soft linen, held firm by her will alone, molded to the tumblers of the lock and, with a twist of the bandage, the lock clicked open.

"Miss Grimwood?" Tanis asked cautiously, slowly opening the door. The door slowly swung to reveal an empty bedroom. Tanis looked closer at the bed to find the sheets disheveled, as if someone had left in a hurry. That … didn't sound like Miss Grimwood, at all. Something was definitely not right, here.

Tanis looked over to find a sealed door to what she could only assume was an adjoining room. Tanis bit her lip as she carefully thought over what she should do next. It was rude to intrude on Miss Grimwood's privacy, but … she was starting to get scared for her.

With a nod of determination, and remembering Winnie once saying it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, Tanis approached the second door and began to repeat her lock-picking trick. But no sooner had her bandage touched the metal of the keyhole than Tanis yelped as a spark of magic blasted it back and lit it on fire. Tanis grabbed the bandage and blew out the small flame, sighing with relief at the gratefully-faint singe.

Tanis looked up and narrowed her eyes, expanding the magical senses that her father and Miss Grimwood herself had taught her to cultivate. In response to her prodding, sigils carved in the door frame, hidden within decorative engravings, flared with pale blue light.

Tanis's mouth fell open at the intricacy of the wards that protected the door and the room beyond. Sure, she had seen far stronger and more solid wards — her father's wardings around their crypt were like a solid shell of magic, a magical stronghold that would endure even the harshest of offensives, magical and mundane alike. But this … this was something else.

Rather than a solid shell of protection, Miss Grimwood's wards were a collection of thinner layers. Each was designed to fracture under magical pressure, slowly wearing down until it could absorb anymore, like the human invention of shatterproof glass. Each layer would cancel out a wave of magical force, then trigger a trap nestled within each layer. From what Tanis could pick out from the densely-packed sigils, the first few traps were "inferno", "rain of lightning", and "crushing force." It was a beautiful example of playing to strengths, using finesse in place of force.

All-in-all, maybe trying to pick her way in magically was not a good idea.

As Tanis struggled to come up with a solution, a brush of warm air make her squeal with surprise. She spun around to find Matches looking down at her with lowered brows. "Um, hi Matches," Tanis said with a wide forced grin. The dragon merely narrowed his eyes. Tanis swallowed thickly. "I know we're not supposed to be in here, but Miss Grimwood has never missed breakfast. We're worried. Is she alright?"

Matches hummed, the sound deep and guttural like a growl. But Tanis had known Matches since her first year at this school, when he had hatched. She knew when he was angry or simply thoughtful. Or, in this case, he seemed a bit worried as well. Matches growled in his strange mix of growls and perceptible words, urging her to take hold of on of the spikes along his back. When she had a good hold, Matches pawed at a latch by the door, opening it for him. He passed through the wards with no trouble — and that protection extended to Tanis.

When they finally entered the room, Tanis gasped and covered her mouth. Miss Grimwood, clad in a robe and looking pale and utterly exhausted, was sleeping with her head down on a large table. Books, most of them open to random pages, lay scattered around her. And on a metal pan sat what looked like a dissected plant, the rank odor of dark magic wafting from it.

"Miss Grimwood!" Tanis shouted, shaking the poor woman. It took a few moments, but the headmistress woke with a start and a pair of coughs. "Tanis?" she asked groggily, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. "What are you doing in here? How did you-?" Miss Grimwood paused and turned to Matches with a stern glower. "We will discuss this later, youngling," she promised with a wagging finger. Matches, to his credit, looked nothing less than smug.

"I'm sorry, Miss Grimwood," Tanis interrupted. "I know we're not supposed to be in here. But we were all so worried. You- you've never missed breakfast before." Tanis inwardly winced at how childish that sounded. For Ra's sake, she was in her fourteenth year of undeath! She wasn't a child!

Miss Grimwood's stern look melted into exhaustion mixed with shame. "I know, dear. I'm sorry I've been so distracted lately. Really, what kind of educator am I?"

"The best," Tanis retorted firmly. She was not good with confrontation, but she would _never_ let her headmistress, the woman she considered an aunt figure, if not a mother figure, chastise herself. "Whatever's got you scared, it must be important."

"Who says I'm scared, Tanis?" Miss Grimwood asked, her expression carefully neutral even as her voice wavered just a bit. She couldn't let Vincent's premonition interfere with the girls. They were here to learn, not to worry about vague threats. That was _her_ job.

"No one," Tanis assured. "But to me … You look like you did after Revolta." Tanis remembered that time quite well. After Shaggy and his dogs had left the first time. Miss Grimwood's carefully hidden worry. It was one of the most distressing times of Tanis's life watching her like that.

Miss Grimwood thought over Tanis's words before standing and collecting a number of glass jars and vials, each one labeled in Creole French. With a snap of her fingers, a small cauldron on a far table was lit with pale blue fire. Miss Grimwood gathered her glassware and, with the grace and precision borne only from years of practice and repetition, began brewing a quick potion.

Tanis glanced at Matches, who watched with only token interest. In less than ten minutes, Miss Grimwood had brewed the potion, set a spark of magic that finished it, stored it in vials to cool, and downed one of the vials. Tanis could almost feel the magic that arose through her, from her stomach to the rest of her body.

"A re-energizing potion," Miss Grimwood explained, the color back in her cheeks and the circles under her eyes all-but-gone. "Now come along, Tanis. Perhaps we should check in on Elsa's latest project, see if we can weigh in in any way."

Tanis followed quietly, the wards around the lab allowing her to leave without a fuss. But before she closed the door, Tanis glanced back at the plant on Miss Grimwood's worktable. Just the sight of it, the faint smell of evil that seemed to arise from it, made dread pool in her gut.

As she closed the door with a loud click, Tanis nodded to herself. Something was up. And even if it got her in trouble, she'd find out what.

* * *

"Packs?" Shaggy asked. He winced at the sound of thunder overhead, which was actually much quieter than it should be given the bolt arced _toward_ the school to hit Elsa's lightning rod. Apparently Miss Grimwood had placed enchantments on the back porch area to muffle thunder a bit, as well as keep the rain outside the rails and porch. Which was pretty trippy, watching the rain be stopped by a wall of nothing to run down like on a window pane.

"Yep," Winnie confirmed, once again in her human shape. "You didn't think only natural wolves ran in packs, did ya?"

Honestly, he'd never really thought about it. Shaggy tapped his index finger on the arm of his rocking chair, the claw making a sharp _tap, tap, tap_ noise like the hands of a grandfather clock. "But I thought wolf packs were just families," he said.

Winnie chuckled, genuinely impressed that Shaggy knew that. The concept of "alpha", "beta", and "omega" wolves in a pack, always vying for higher rank, was a myth derived from poorly-executed early mortal research. When they'd just grabbed wolves out of the wild and clumped them together. Yes, then those things had happened — they also happened in mortal prisons, which were basically the same thing.

No, in a real, natural setting, packs were _family_. The so-called alpha and beta were the parents, other members their grown or growing pups. When they felt ready, the pups would leave the pack and find mates to start their own packs, and so on and so on. The circle of life, and all that. There was no in-fighting, no true conflict. Heck, the members protected each other with their _lives_ if necessary.

"They are," Winnie assured. "But it's pretty rare to find werewolf families. Present company excluded."

"So how …?" Shaggy started.

"Imprinting," Winnie cut off. "Werewolf packs are chosen, not bred. When a werewolf connects with someone deeply enough, it forms a kind of … spiritual bond. A link. That process is called 'imprinting'. And it doesn't _have_ to be between werewolves. It can happen between a werewolf and pretty much anyone."

Shaggy thought that over for a moment before a thought crossed his mind. "Have you-?"

"Yep," Winnie said. All of them. The girls, Matches, Miss Grimwood." She paused and looked out into the rain with a distant look. "They're my pack." She stayed that way for a few moments longer before grinning again.

"And old Kipling got it right: 'The strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.' It's even more true for werewolves — literally. We draw strength from our pack, from the bonds we forge. Focus under pressure, comfort in pain, it comes from packmates. Not to mention the will to protect."

Shaggy swallowed thickly as he drummed his fingers. "I'm starting to think this wasn't a random lesson," he noted wryly.

Winnie shook her head in reply. "Unless I'm wrong, you've already begun to form a pack. Scooby first, duh. And this morning you imprinted on Tanis." Winnie grinned toothily. "And the more you bond with us, the bigger your pack will be. Which may help with your control issues."

Shaggy smiled at that, a genuine comfort. On impulse, guided by instinct, Shaggy reached over and placed his palm on Winnie's forehead. The same warmth from the morning arose in his heart and his forehead. And now that he knew what to look for, he felt the link with Winnie form. He felt the bonds with Tanis and Scooby, too. He blinked away another tear that escaped the corner of his eye, brushing it away nonchalantly.

"Thanks, Winnie," Shaggy said.

"No problem, Coach," Winnie replied as they enjoyed the show of the storm together.

* * *

As lightning continued to scythe across the darkness of the clouds, the Grim Creeper worked to use this to his mistress's advantage. The Creeper looked thinner than before, his body shrivelled and cadaverous. It left him weakened and slower, but it was well worth it.

The Creeper cast his solitary eye across the canopy of the forest surrounding his the clearing where Revolta's cauldron sat, the potion simmering and maturing inside. Next to the cauldron sat a large stone carved with angular sigils, an artifact of Revolta's that he had retrieved from the ruins. A number of vines ran were wrapped around it, connecting it to the branches of the surrounding trees.

The Creeper cackled maliciously. These vines were his, grown especially for this night. As if on cue, lightning struck one of the trees draped in his vines, the energy drawn to them and running down the vines and into the lodestone. The runes glowed as the stone absorbed the power of the storm to prepare for another of Revolta's frightening schemes.

The Creeper shivered with glee as he thought over what Revolta's ghost had shared with him. She had learned much in the years she'd spent trapped in Limbo, her spell and her hatred keeping her from crossing to the other side. He could only imagine the delightfully wretched tortures that awaited the Grimwood girls and their meddling coach.

Another lightning bolt struck the trees, his vines channeling it into the stones. Confident in his work, the Creeper burrowed his roots into the soggy ground to draw in scummy water and bugs to feed upon. If he was to continue to serve, he needed to recover his strength.

* * *

"Can't wait to be outta here, 'way from these fools an' their learnin'," Norman grumbled to himself. For the umpteenth time. When he had first risen during the night of the half moon, he'd set off with confidence to find Norville, little Shaggy, and tell him what needed to be told.

Unfortunately, there were apparently rules to being any kind of spirit.

When Norman's ghost had reached the edge of the property, following the sense of pressure in his head that he knew without needing to know how led to his nephew, he'd hit a roadblock. Literally, in a ghostly sense. He'd hit a force that felt like foam, as pliable as it was unyielding. And it would not, for the not-life of him, let him step off the property grounds.

And the ruckus he'd caused trying to get passed had drawn the attention of the trio his nephew had left the mansion and grounds to. The so-called "Boo Brothers." The trio had rushed on over to defend their territory to find their intruder actively trying to _leave_.

"What's the big idea, old man? This is our home, ya'hear!" the biggest of the three had shouted.

"Yeah, ya better go on'n skedattle," the thin one had added, tacking on some fool-sounding laughter.

"We got this house fair n' square," the last one had added, hiding behind the previous two.

"Quiet!" Norman had barked, his voice packed with enough authority to make them stand at attention. "I may not be 'live no more, but this was ma house for nigh on seventy years. And I'll not have three chicken-brained morons say I can't be a-standin' on ma own property."

After his little speech, the trio had circled up to discuss the matter. After a few minutes of whispering and some violence from the big one, they'd, against all odds, figured out that he was the ghost of Shaggy's uncle. Which, of course, meant he was welcome to stay.

When they'd all returned to the mansion proper, the trio had offered to explain the situation to him. They may have been bad at ghost-catching, but they knew a thing or two about spirits.

Apparently, the old colonel was a genuine ghost, a spirit tied to its former life by a powerful goal or emotion. And in the colonel's case, often both. But ghosts, tied to their former lives as they were, came with heavy restrictions. Some were tied to the place they had died or been buried, some were tied to an object that they were attached to in life (or the instrument that had killed them), and some were tied to a person that encompassed their goal.

Given that information, the colonel was a bit of the first and third. He was clearly bound to his grave and his ancestral home, but he could feel the pressure on the inside of his ghostly head that pointed him at Shaggy. If he wanted to move on for good, he had to finish his earthly business.

With that in mind, the Boo Brothers, who he had learned were full-on phantoms, had offered to teach him not only to break the shackles that kept him in place, but to operate as a spirit for his journey.

That had been almost two weeks ago. And in the time since, the Boo Brothers had put him through rigorous training that sort of reminded him of his military days. At least, when the trio weren't too busy sniping and swiping at each other. He'd (eventually) learned to stay visible, interact with solid matter, shapeshift to a degree, how to inflict violence upon other spirits (he'd figured that out on his own when Meeko became too much), and other aspects of spirit-hood.

Finally, he was ready to step off the grounds and fulfill his purpose. As the third-quarter moon shone down, Norman braced his will and growled. He focused on his clenched fist, the visage of himself actually glowing with pale blue light. With a shout, he struck the border of the grounds — and felt the barrier yield. To his ghostly eyes, he saw cracks form if the open air and race along the borders of the grounds before hardly-visible shards rained down.

"You did it!" Meeko shouted with joy.

"'Course he did it. We taught him how, ya pea-brain!" Freako had scolded, raised fist making Meeko shrink back.

"Looks like the ol' colonel made it rain, huh?" Shreiko had tacked on with his trademark laugh.

No matter what happened, Norman knew he wouldn't regret leaving this place. But, he was in their debt, and so he turned around and bowed, one arm outstretched and the other folded under his body. "I thank'ee fer yer help, Boo Brothers," he said, with genuine feeling.

"Not a problem, colonel," Freako said, waving it off. "It was the least we could do."

"Literally," Shrieko added, earning a smack to the back of the head.

"Tell Shaggy we said hi," Meeko piped up. "And tell him to write!"

Colonel Norman grinned and tipped his hat before turning on his heel and floating off the ground, following the pressure in his head. Soon enough, he'd find his nephew. He faltered as a wolf's howl echoed through the forest, but shook it off and kept up the pace.

Soon Shaggy would know the terrible truth about their family history.

 ***I really had fun describing Miss Grimwood's wards in this. Can you tell? I figure she makes up for lack of raw power with skill. IE, layering weaker wards to get the same results as one big one. *Also, the wards around her lab are designed to go both ways - it's mostly in case something goes wrong so backlash doesn't destroy the house.**

 ***Hope I got Tanis right in this. In my mind, her concern for her friends trumps any timidness or shyness.**

 ***I've been ready to address the concept of werewolf packs for some time. The 'bond' isn't a telepathic link or anything that strong or pervasive. It's a faint spiritual connection, not mind reading. It happens naturally, not on command. And finally, it _will_ come into play later.**

 ***Hadn't had an update on the Grim Creeper in a few chapters. What he's setting up is independent of the potion in the cauldron. But also part of Revolta's revenge schemes.**

 ***I wasn't originally going to put the Boo Brothers themselves in this fic, but I realized that I hadn't shown Beauregard in a while. And that he needed someone to help him figure out the 'mechanics' of being a ghost. And so, the last few scenes were born. *Hope I did them justice!**

 ***"Kipling" refers to Rudyard Kipling, the author of "The Jungle Book." Part of The Law of the Jungle, as set to wolves, goes: "As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back; For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack". That is what Winnie's referring to.**

 ***The Boo Brothers did NOT teach the colonel about the Betwixt, for three reasons. 1) It would take way too much time to learn. 2) It could needlessly complicate his journey. Space and geography are different there and could cause more harm than good. 3) The Betwixt is filled with powerful and experienced spirits, few of them at all helpful, if not utterly malevolent. He's not ready to deal with them, nor does he need to - he just needs to find Shaggy.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The second week of term seemed to fly by compared to the first. With the girls acclimating to their given exercises, Shaggy had to increase the resistance to keep up the pressure. Or as his old high school coach would have put it, he had to "amp up the pain." But rather than moan and groan, the girls embraced the challenge.

Before anyone knew it, another weekend had arrived. One that Winnie was looking forward to, as it meant a few more werewolf lessons for the coach.

* * *

When the sun began to set on Friday evening, Shaggy and Scooby were in high spirits as they returned to the school from the nearby town. They'd stocked up once again on normal food and were ready to break the haul in.

About halfway into bringing the groceries in from the van, Shaggy caught an unusual scent in the air. A male scent, which was strange in and of itself in an all-girls school. In concert, Shaggy and Scooby turned to find one of Calloway's cadets crossing the drawbridge with a manilla folder clutched under his arm.

Placing his paper bag gently to the porch, Shaggy moved to greet the boy. "Hey. Like … Baxter, right?" Shaggy greeted, taking note of the boy's red hair.

"Yes sir!" Baxter affirmed, standing at attention. Shaggy couldn't help but laugh.

"Ah, relax, kid. Like, I've never really cared about that kind of stuff." Faint memories of his parents considering military school flashed through his mind, making him shiver. "So what's up?"

"Colonel Calloway wanted this delivered to you, Coach Rogers," Baxter informed, passing the folder to him. Shaggy took it and thumbed it open, finding design ideas, a finalized location, and list of viable dates for the upcoming competition. "And I'm sure you just jumped up to volunteer, didn't ya?" he said absently. Silence greeted him and Shaggy looked up to find the boy blushing, eyes wide.

"How did you know?" Baxter asked, his voice cracking a bit.

Shaggy had no chance to answer before the school's front door opened to reveal Tanis. "Coach, Miss Grimwood said dinner is ready. You-" Tanis trailed off at the sight of one of their neighbors-slash-rivals. And if possible, Baxter turned even redder, until his face matched his hair.

"Thank you, Coach Rogers," Baxter squeaked out. He tipped his hat to Tanis. "Miss, good evening." With that, he turned and practically bolted for the gate to the school.

"And the plot thickens," Shaggy quipped. "Thanks for the heads up, Tanis. Scoob and I'll be there just as soon as we finish loading up these groceries." With a cheerful nod, Tanis left them to their work.

"Shaggy?" Scooby asked. "What just happened?"

"Not sure, Scoob," Shaggy admitted. It was true, he wasn't entirely sure what to make of what had happened. But he had a pretty good idea.

* * *

"Clinical observation beta/thirty-one," Elsa intoned levelly, her voice directed at a recording device sitting on her lab table. Dressed in a howie-style leather lab coat and elbow-length gloves, her hair tied back and large goggles over her eyes, she looked every inch the mad scientist her kind had been made by.

"Subject, vampire blood - hereby referred to as 'ichor'." Elsa held a vial of said ichor, freshly donated from Sibella, up against one of the fluorescent lights in the science lab. "Visual observation, odd coloration. Ichor appears deep violet in color, rather than bright or dark red. Theory note: could be the cause of Sibella and Dracula's unnatural skin tone."

Elsa brought the vial close to her face and gently brushed the air above it, slowly breathing in. She flinched and coughed in surprise before noting, "Olfactory observation, gives off faint scent of dry earth. Inquiry as to why." Elsa placed the vial in a test tube rack and corked it for further study.

Elsa placed one hand under her other elbow, using it as support to place her chin on the back of her other hand in what her friends called her "thinking pose", to consider her next move in research.

What few took the time to consider was that Elsa, blessed with an exceptional mind, had a hand in many disciplines. Biology — botany, zoology, and human — was a necessity given her state of being. She was a living patchwork and had to continually make sure her various parts were functioning normally. General medicine was just as important. Engineering was a hobby, sparked (ha ha) by the original Doctor Frankenstein's research — the very method of her dada's creation and the basis of her own. Chemistry and physics tied into engineering, while geology and a bit of psychology were hobbies as well.

But more recently, Elsa had come up with something unique. She had decided to study, scientifically, the machinations of the supernatural.

Of all of her friends, Elsa was well aware that she was far and away the least tied to the supernatural. Sure, her state of being was far from natural, wrought by fantastical mad science and alchemy, but she was still a creation of just that: science. During the last few years, this thought had plagued her in her most vulnerable moments, made her feel silently distant from the others, until she had spoken to Miss Grimwood about it toward the end of last year. The headmistress had assured Elsa that her origins in no way had to affect her relationship with the others. In the end it had been quite simple: friendship knew no bounds.

And Elsa would never doubt that her fellow students were her best friends. Now and forever.

After her, it became more difficult to separate the rest of the girls from the supernatural. As far as she could determine, Phanty came next. Her existence was unnatural in the grand scheme of "natural law", but she was a disembodied spirit or soul, not a product of magic. Elsa smiled to herself as she thought over a talk she'd had with Phanty about studying ectoplasm, and the surprisingly positive (and loud) response.

After Phanty, Elsa had to give it to Winnie. Lycanthropy was a magical curse, or so she had been told, but Winnie was still _alive_. Her human form was biologically the same as a regular mortal, aside from enhancements from the curse that carried over. Or was she? Exactly how different was her human form from mortals, or even herself? Which only reinforced Elsa's hopes.

Next came Sibella. She was a vampire, a living corpse animated by a soul bound by some sort of curse as well. Elsa knew rather little about the origins of nosferatu, but she'd found bits and pieces that implied there was one original vampire who had been created by making a deal with some sort of demon. Other precursors, such as Count Dracula, had been created through raw black magic. But Sibella had been born … how that worked Elsa couldn't figure out. Hmm … maybe she should just ask.

Next up the ladder was Miss Grimwood. She was for all intents and purposes mortal, but all of those born with the spark of magic, who nurtured it and learned to draw real power from it, were altered. They healed more efficiently and tended to live for hundreds of years. Was that a result of magic itself, or the body adapting to its continual presence?

And finally came Tanis. Even more than Sibella, she was a being fueled by raw magic, sustained by a continued spell. Not a curse, but a real (if forbidden) spell. But what truly made her condition unique was that she had truly been _dead_. For hundreds of years! Traditionally, the mummification process involved removing numerous organs, including the _heart_ and _brain_. And the spell used to resurrect her allowed her to operate as if she were alive and totally whole.

As these questions unfolded in her mind, Elsa was struck by an old expression she had read once. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." Elsa sat against her lab table, eyes wide as she considered the implications of such a simple phrase, and its relevance to her prospective works. Victor Frankenstein had had good intentions when designing and building her dada, but humankind, even the doctor himself, had reviled the creation and consigned him to an existence of loneliness and misery. It was only the acceptance of the monster communities that had prevented such a fate.

If she pursued this, was she really any different?

Elsa glanced at the vials of violet fluid sitting on her lab table. Ichor that Sibella had donated willingly in support of her work. She remembered Phanty's support of her, her trust in her. And of course, she had gotten Miss Grimwood's explicit approval before she even began to _consider_ real experiments.

Elsa sighed and placed the rack of vials in a cooling chamber to preserve them. As she did, she resolved to never lose sight of herself. She would learn all she could, perhaps even find ways to help Monsterdom. And if she began to stray, she knew her friends would set her straight.

As Elsa began to remove her gear, a knock at the lab door drew her attention. Rather than open it, Phanty just phased through with her trademark demented giggle. "Miss Grimwood's calling everyone for dinner! You better hurry before Scooby and Coach Shaggy take it all!" With that, she sank into the floor, presumably to salvage what she could.

Elsa chuckled as she turned off the lights to the lab. Life, or undeath, was about more than work and research. It was about appreciating the little things — things like friendship and community. And Elsa planned to live as well as any flesh golem could.

Starting with, say, a good home-cooked meal.

* * *

"You're kidding!" Shaggy laughed, taking another bite of one of Miss Grimwood's famous bat burgers as he did, this one cooked rare especially for him. Winnie, in the middle of her own burger, shook her head, sending her short curls bouncing.

"It's true!" she said. For this weekend, Winnie had decided to get into the different facets of werewolf culture across the world and through time.

"You're telling me that berserkers were actually werewolves and all the other vikings, with their epics and poems and stuff, never noticed?" Shaggy asked. That didn't seem possible.

"Not all of 'em," Winnie admitted. "Most of them used a curse that invoked a bear spirit of rage, which gave them greater strength. But there were a few packs, known to their neighbors as just big families, that used their wolf selves to fight alongside the vikings. They were called 'úlfhéðnar', or wolf coats."

Shaggy thought that over for a second. "And no one noticed?" he repeated. That was the part he was having trouble believing. A werewolf pack taking a chance to fight, now that was easy to believe.

"Of course they noticed, they just didn't know they were werewolves. The other vikings all thought the families were blessed by one of their gods to fight in wolf shapes," Winnie grinned, taking another bite.

Ah, now it made sense.

Everyone else was quiet as they ate their dinner, the spectacle of Winnie and Shaggy's history "lesson" more entertaining than anything else they could think of. Even Matches was engrossed in the sight over his trough of charcoaled patties.

"And if you think that's cool, wait until you hear about the Livonian Wolves," Winnie said. From there, she began to tell the story of Theiss of Livonia, a powerful werewolf who had led his pack against powerful corrupt witches. Theiss had been exiled by the Swedish government when his powers were discovered, but the group themselves still lived as an enforcer for the-

"What's the council?" Shaggy asked.

Winnie paused, the remains of her burger hovering just in front of her open mouth. She glanced at all of her friends, who had also frozen in place. A sense of tension settled over the table for a few moments before Sibella sighed and put down her fork and knife (no Dracula ate with their hands — it just wasn't done.)

"The Grand Council is the overall ruling body of Monsterdom," Sibella explained. "We were hoping to avoid the topic for a while. Until someone-" she glanced pointedly at Winnie, who could only shrug and smile tensely, "-just had to bring it up."

"Why keep it a secret?" Scooby asked.

"Probably because that makes it more real," Phanty said, uncharacteristically solemn. "You being under their purview, now." Everyone looked at her in surprise. No one had really been able to figure out why they had each decided to leave that be, but Phanty had explained it in a single sentence. Phanty giggled awkwardly. "Hey, I may be goofy but I'm not dumb," she said.

"Anyway," Sibella said, "the Grand Council is the highest part of Monsterdom, somewhat like Congress of this nation." Sibella quirked a faint grin. "Though the Council is smaller and much more effective," she added. Shaggy barked a laugh at that.

"The Council is made up of an elected representative from each Kin, one from vampires, one from werewolves, from mummies, from spirits, and so on. How these representatives are elected depends on the Kin."

"What do you mean 'kin'?" Shaggy asked.

"It's a term for a 'species' of monster," Miss Grimwood supplied, to which Shaggy nodded in understanding. She smiled to herself as she listened to her girls explain monster government. Nothing like listening to the results of your teaching first-hand. And so eloquently, too.

"The funny thing," Tanis piped up, "is that all of our fathers are one the Council. Count Dracula represents vampires, Mister Talbot represents the werewolf packs, Elder Frankenstein represents artificial creations, Erik the Phantom represents spirits, and my mummy-daddy represents mummies!"

Shaggy sat up straighter at all of this. "So … does that make all of you princesses, or something?"

"Nope!" Phanty giggled.

"It's all elected," Elsa explained. "Members of the Council can step down or be voted off or recalled by their own Kin and replaced with someone else. How that works depends on the Kin."

"And the Council's will tends to reflect on matters that affect all of Monsterdom," Sibella clarified. "For matters involving a single Kin, they figure it out for themselves. Independence is a very important thing to monsters."

Shaggy squeezed the bridge of his nose as he tried to reconcile everything he had just learned. He snickered at the thought of how Velma would react to a lesson on general monster politics. For an ever-researching bookworm, this conversation would be worth its weight in gold.

"What's funny?" Winnie asked.

Shaggy shrugged. "Just thinking about one of the friends I grew up with," he said nonchalantly. He continued with his food for a few moments before realizing that everyone was looking at him. "What?"

"What were your friends like?" Winnie asked, voicing everyone else's thoughts. It took Shaggy a moment to realize that they knew very little about him. Far less, at the very least, than he knew about each of them.

Shaggy smiled and put down his burger, brushing his hands on a napkin before shaking himself loose. "Alright, gang. Let me tell you about a little group call 'Mystery Inc.'"

* * *

One thing about being a spirit was that they no longer had blood. But if he had still been alive, Norman Beauregard's blood would have been pumping with excitement. The buzzing in the fore of his semi-transparent skull had steadily grown more intense as he had drawn closer to Norville, and it was humming like a piano string now.

He was close, for sure.

Norman passed through a line of trees hung with Spanish moss to find himself at the gate of … a boarding school for girls? Norman ignored the sign that had been painted over to read "ghouls," assuming it was a prank by local youngsters. Of course, that line of reasoning was challenged when he approached the school gates, only to be blasted back by a field of energy.

As he adjusted to the shock of such a thing, both literal and figurative, Norman looked up at the sound of crumbling stone. The gargoyles that were perched on the gate pillars … turned their heads and looked at him with burning orange eyes. The one on the left growled, the sound vibrating within _him_ , his very spirit-form, as much as the air, while the other remained silent.

"Now, boys," Norman said, "let's not do anythin' hasty, here. I won' no trouble, but my nephew's inside an' I need ta speak with 'im on important matters."

The gargoyles glanced at each other and then back to him. As one, they took a deep breath, their bodies inflating with more crumbling-stone sounds, before they let out a roar that sounded like it belonged in Hell.

* * *

"And so Scooby looks the Creeper dead in the eyes, that baby chick still on his nose, and yanks the goon's mask off. We were all surprised to find out it was-" The reveal of Shaggy's story about his adventure with Mystery Inc. was interrupted by one of the loudest and most _weird_ sounds he'd ever heard. It was like some kind of warbling high-pitched roar.

At the sound, Miss Grimwood shot from her seat with a wild look in her eye. "Girls, go to the sitting room and wait for me to return. Matches, Coach Rogers, if you will come with me to the school gate." Without another word, Miss Grimwood rushed from the table and into the next room.

"Scoob, you go with the girls," Shaggy said. Scooby nodded with a faint whine, gently herding the girls out of the dining room while Shaggy moved to catch up to Miss Grimwood and Matches. He fell into step with them as they were crossing the drawbridge, forcibly keeping his nerves at bay as he settled at the headmistress's right side.

As they began the trek toward the gate, the wind shifted toward them and Miss Grimwood finally spoke up. "Matches, what do you smell of any visitors?"

"Ghosts," Shaggy immediately answered, only just then consciously realizing it.

Miss Grimwood looked to Shaggy with a wry grin. "Is your name 'Matches' now, Shaggy?" she teased. Shaggy looked away, the hair on his face rising in embarrassment. With that, Miss Grimwood turned to the dragon at her left. "Do you concur, Matches?' she asked seriously.

Matches eyed Shaggy for a few more moments before nodding and answering in his garbled tongue, which Miss Grimwood had always seemed to understand with perfect clarity. As they spoke, Shaggy took a few more whiffs of the air. In addition to the smell of threatening rain and the fire from a farm a few miles east, he could smell the distinct scent that always lingered around Phanty, the smell of ectoplasm.

As the trio neared the gate, Shaggy could discern the shape of a male figure dressed in some kind of suit, his back turned toward them. Finally, they reached the gate, the gargoyles perched atop the borders turning toward Miss Grimwood. With the gargoyles distracted, the ghost turned toward them.

Shaggy took a step back in surprise at their visitor. "Uncle Norman?!" he shouted.

The ghost of his late uncle smiled and tipped his hat. "Evenin' there, Norville," he greeted jovially, though his grin seemed a little shaky, a little forced.

Shaggy scratched the back of his neck as a thousand and one questions seemed to rush through his mind. Why was his uncle a ghost? Why was that ghost here? Had he really been a ghost during the mystery with the Boo Brothers so long ago? If so, why appear now?

"You know of this man, Shaggy?" Miss Grimwood asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. He's, like, my uncle. My mother's brother. Uncle Norman, what are you doing here?"

Norman sighed and removed his hat. "'Cause-a unfinished business, boy," he said. "I can't pass through the beyond 'til you know the truth about our family line. And given yer, uh," he gestured at Shaggy's face and hands, "condition, you need to know now more'n ever."

"Know what?" Shaggy asked, his tone rising from nerves.

"The dark secret o' the Beauregard family."

 **Finally forced myself to sit down and get this chapter done. Hope it's good.**

 ***How'd you like the scene with Baxter? I had some fun with that, myself.**

 ***Elsa's experiments will in no way hurt the other girls. They're out of simple curiosity about how the supernatural world works. And it may or may not come into play later. **Side note, I'm calling undead blood "ichor," which refers to blood of immortals in Classical mythology. Sibella willingly donated her ichor for Elsa's experiment with it, hoping she could perhaps improve their way of feeding.**

 ***Elsa showed her intelligence in the film itself, what with building her "Shockman" for her father. In my mind, playing off of the film "The Bride of Frankenstein," the methods to create Elsa were far more refined and perhaps even somewhat based in magic than those used to create her father, the original monster. **In this canon, Frankenstein himself has an impressive mind as well, based on the original novel by Mary Shelley. The monster was able to learn German secondhand by listening to lessons, was quite articulate and well-read (often quoting classics such as "Paradise Lost"), and could follow the doctor's notes that he had accidentally taken from the lab. I think that leaves a good basis.**

 ***The bit about berserkers and Theiss of Swedish Livonia are based on real folklore. I just thought it was cool.**

 ***The Grand Council of Monsterdom is somewhat inspired by the gathering of monsters for the drag race in "Reluctant Werewolf." In case it never appears in the fic itself, here's how monster-by-monster governance works:**

 ****Vampires are ruled by a** **triumvirate** **(three person council) of powerful vampires, which now includes Count Dracula, Elizabeth Bathoroy (real woman claimed to kill young girls and bathe in their blood for youth - possibly helped inspire the Count) and Empusa, an ancient Greek vampiress with flaming red hair (based on the mythological figure of the same name.) **Werewolf packs gather every few years to put down general rules and settle disputes. **Mummies gather on occasion in a massive communal crypt to settle affairs, but tend to be solitary or live in small groups. **Spirits are solitary, but will gather in massive groups for "parties" in abandoned locations to keep up a sense of community. **Artificial creatures are solitary and only gather at large to elect a rep.**

 ***The gargoyles on the Grimwood school gate are actually alive, they plugged up their ears to drown out Winnie's howling during the exercise scene. In this, they have an agreement with Miss Grimwood to guard the school grounds. Gargoyles are tough magical creatures with fierce protective instincts, and so perfectly suited for such things.**

 **Leave a review, guys! Those notifications brighten my day!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

For the second time in less than a month, Shaggy found himself in Miss Grimwood's sitting room with a cup of toadstool tea clutched in his fingers. Like last time, his head was full to bursting with questions. Unlike last time, he had no story to keep the questions at bay, leaving them to bombard his mind as his eye twitched and his teacup rattled in his shaking hands.

Sure, he'd acted fine outside, but he'd been stunned by his uncle's mere presence. But now … Now it was hitting him, and he was starting to freak out.

Also unlike last time, it wasn't just him, Scooby, Miss Grimwood and Matches. All of the girls were in the sitting room, each one reacting differently to the tension in the atmosphere. Phanty was clearly excited and straining not to shriek with glee at the presence of another spirit. Sibella seemed calm and collected, but her eyes were hard as she seemed to be processing the situation. Winnie and Elsa were both flicking their gazes between Shaggy and Norman, apparently trying to see any resemblance. And Tanis, bless her heart, was sitting next to Matches, stroking his neck to keep him calm.

"Well, Colonel Beauregard," Miss Grimwood finally started.

"Norman's jus' fine, ma'am," the spirit interjected. "Doubt dead men hold rank, cer'monial er otherwise."

"Very well, Norman," Miss Grimwood revised, "as I'm sure you can imagine, it is odd to have a spirit appear unannounced at the school's doorstep. If you'll forgive me, have you any way to verify your identity?"

Norman quirked an eyebrow at the question, but then chuckled. "Sure as shootin', I can." He glanced at Shaggy. "Norville, ye r'member that one reun'on when ye're about eight? 'Vry one's minglin', jokin', makin' merry n' all. So the time comes fer dinner, n' whad'ya know it? We open the doors t'the dinin' room n' there's lil' Norville n' his pup, bellies bloated n' most of the meal gone." He barked a laugh. "I lost twenty bucks to m' sister on that bet, n' she pulls out a whole 'nuther meal. Turns out, the firs' was a decoy, all takeout. An' all the family got ta eat their fill since the boy was already stuffed!"

Norman cackled at the memory, actually slapping his spectral thigh. All of the girls laughed at the story, Miss Grimwood too. Even Matches snorted light smoke in amusement. Shaggy himself cringed at the memory, more specifically the scolding he'd gotten from his mother. She'd expected his snacking to get out of control, but that didn't mean he was off the hook. Not by a longshot.

"Like, I've never once told that story," Shaggy admitted. "Even the gang doesn't know. It's gotta be Uncle Norman."

Miss Grimwood drummed her nails in thought before smiling. "I suppose that's as good proof as we can get," she admitted cheerfully. Oh sure, she could have performed any number of rites to determine his relation to Shaggy, similar to a mortal genetics test, but they could be both rather intense and invasive. No, this was much better.

"Uncle Norman," Shaggy piped up, "now that I know it's you, I gotta ask. Was that really you back at the plantation?"

Norman chuckled. "Yessir, boy. That was me. Guess some part o' me could'na rest 'til I knew you was safe."

"So … why are you here now?" he asked.

Norman's smile dropped and he sighed heavily. "Guess tha's th' only question what matters, innit?" He looked up at Shaggy, a crushing weight in his eyes. "I's like I said. Ya need ta know the truth o' our family." The ghost took off his hat and shook himself. "'Tal sta'ted wit' ma' great granpappy. T'd be yer great- _great_ -granpappy …" Norman rose and flew toward Shaggy, merging with him in a move that shocked everyone else.

Shaggy gasped as he felt himself falling, being dragged into the depths of his mind ...

* * *

Shaggy came to on a blank grey void. He felt solid mass beneath his feet, but nothing else. He looked around for a few seconds and saw nothing else. Then he turned and shrieked as Norman, appearing as solid as he had in life, materialized beside him.

"Sorry about that, boy," Norman said, the thickness of his accent somehow muted. "The Boo Brothers taught me a thing or two about being a ghost. They say 'hi', by the way." Shaggy laughed nervously, still unsure about what was happening. "Anyway, they taught me the theory of ghost possession and mentioned that it can grant visions to the living. Thought that would be the easiest way to tell you."

"About my great-great-grandpa?" Shaggy asked.

Norman nodded and took a deep breath, visibly concentrating. The grey void around them swirled with color, like different paints poured in a glass of water and stirred up. Colors swirled for a few moments before they reformed into a clear picture.

Against a backdrop of trees stood a lanky man with a thin beard in old-fashioned clothes, the resemblance to Shaggy himself uncanny. "This image is based on an old photo passed down through the family," Norman explained. "I filled in some details and put in my idea of colors." Ah, that explained it.

"Great grandpappy Wesley was a good man. He loved to travel and took up a job as a surveyor. He was hired out to map lands that post-war settlers were looking to purchase. He did good work, I had some of his maps back at the house. He did that for some time until he met a fine young lady."

The image changed to add in a lovely woman standing with Wesley. The way they stood, with Wesley holding her from behind, looked like they were ready to take a photo. Of course, given Norman's reference, it was probably the easiest way for him to picture this image.

"When Wesley met Annabelle, he settled down. Took up a job as a barkeep at the local tavern. Apparently made a name for himself as a man who could listen to any problem and not judge." Norman chuckled. "Guess he passed that down to line, eh?" Shaggy smiled at that.

"It was a few years later that everything went to hell," Norman said, all humor gone from his voice.

The image changed again and resolved into an image of an old-timey town lit by gas lamps. Wesley locked up a small building, probably the tavern where he worked, and whistled as he walked home. Fog began to roll in, which made Wesley pause and swallow thickly. He began to walk faster.

Then a familiar growl cut through the air. Wesley whirled around to see the brawny shape of a werewolf snarling at him, eyes burning and mouth watering. Wesley yelped and ran. The wolfman gave chase, a feral smile baring its lips. The wolfman caught up and lunged, knocking Wesley to the ground.

But fear came in two forms, and Wesley went straight from flight to fight. He screamed in defiance as he punched at the werewolf's short muzzle. The werewolf yelped in surprise, but not in pain. On instinct, it snapped its jaws, its teeth wrapping around Wesley's wrist. The young man screamed in pain as he used his other hand to strike at the werewolf.

The creature snarled in annoyance and slashed Wesley across the face. It's prey stunned, it reared up for the kill … and was blown back as a gunshot pierced the night. Voices arose throughout the town and more bullets came flying. The werewolf howled in frustration and fled, this prey clearly more trouble than it was worth, as men found Wesley, passed out and bloody, in the middle of the street.

"After that, once Wesley was all patched up, things went back to normal. At least until after the new moon. After that, Wesley started getting sick. He was feverish and irritable, thought never with Annabelle. He sweated like a horse and began to eat meat raw. The local doctor thought it was madness starting up from his experience, like the boys that had come back from the Civil War."

The image changed to Wesley on a bed, swathed in blankets as Annabelle held his hand and let him sweat out the fever. The man twitched and gasped in his sleep, but she never left his side. "It was at the full moon, a month after the attack, that things started to clear up."

Wesley was running, sweating and clearly in pain. Shaggy could almost _feel_ the feverish energy that drove him, his instincts screaming that he had to get away from all he loved for the night. He stumbled and fell to the ground as the moon emerged from behind the clouds.

And the Change began.

Muscle and sinew stretched, while skin tore like paper as fur emerged from beneath. Nails lengthened and hardened, while teeth sharpened into a maw of fangs. His ears grew longer and tapered to points, his jaw distending into a short muzzle. A tail tore free from the base of his spine and grew to full length. And at the climax of the Change, Wesley rose up on his hind legs and belted his pain into the night sky as a terrifying howl.

The image dissolved and reformed into the next morning. Annabelle, carrying a lantern, found Wesley covered in blood at the base of a large tree. With tears in her eyes, she shook him awake and helped him limp back to their home. She burned his clothes and washed the blood from him, and they silently vowed to never speak of this night.

But that wasn't the only Change. The next two nights were the same. But she never gave him up, and for that he was grateful. When the fourth night came with no Change, they could finally relax. The news that only a handful of sheep had been found helped with that.

But both knew the legends of werewolves. They knew this would happen again. And they chose to keep their silence. Wesley returned to work as if nothing had happened. They still loved each other and would never let something as trivial as a curse come between them.

But as the next full moon drew near, a stranger dressed in leather came to town, an ebony crossbow slung across his back. The stranger started asking questions, questions about wolfmen. In particular, he asked if anyone had been attacked and lived to tell about it. And people, not thinking, mentioned Wesley.

The full moon arrived and wesley was far from town. The Change came upon him, but this one far less painful. He'd adapted, learned to rise the Change. And some part of him enjoyed it. But as he settled into his lupine form, a shadow fell from the trees. The stranger was hunter of wolfmen, his crossbow loaded with silver-tipped arrows.

Wesley was smart, he recognized a seasoned threat. He ran, his animalistic mind set on escape. But more than that … it was set on protecting the one it loved. Wesley ran back to his home, watching Annabelle from the shadows. And sure enough, the hunter arrived and threatened her for his whereabouts. Wesley lunged and struck at the hunter's exposed side.

While most werewolves revelled in the fight, Wesley did not. While others would reveal themselves and challenge their rival to open warfare, he did not. He leapt, silent as a shadow, and struck for the neck. An unexpected move that led to the hunter's death. Because what kind of werewolf strikes unseen? But the hunter was seasoned, his reflexes honed in blood and death. He struck out with a silver knife and buried it in Wesley's chest.

As the hunter died, so too was Wesley dying. His strength fading, he reverted back to his true shape even as the round moon shone down upon him. He smiled and brushed the tears from his love's eyes until he could no longer hold his arm up. He breathed his last wrapped in her embrace.

Shaggy felt tears run down his cheeks at the sight of the tale. After all of that, Wesley remained himself where it really mattered. His heart was still his own.

"What no one knew was that Annabelle was with child," Norman said. "She left and started a new life, married a rich plantation owner. But she never forgot Wesley. She knew the curse could come back, and so she warned her children, and her grandchildren after."

The image changed again to an elderly woman with soft white hair smiling gently at a boy of six years."And on her deathbed, she warned me." The old woman died, a contented smile on her face.

* * *

Shaggy gasped as Norman's spirit left his body. The spirit shrugged and settled back into his spot on the sofa. But not a second after, Norman reeled as something struck him across the face. Wait, what? He was a ghost! What could have …?!

Norman floated back at the unearthly fury burning in Phantasma's eyes. "I'll forgive that because you're a ghost. But if you were a phantom I'd drag you to my father to be _desecrated_!" Norman gulped in fear of the term. He had no idea what it meant, but he knew that "bad" didn't begin to cover it. With that, Phanty sighed and turned away, all traces of her usual cheer gone.

"It's, like, it's alright, Phanty," Shaggy said, finally getting his breathing under control. Sure, he felt sick, but it was fading quickly.

"No it's not," she protested weakly. "Possession of family or close friends is a gross breach of trust. Even with prior consent it's frowned upon." Phanty glanced backward at the feel of Miss Grimwood's hand on her shoulder.

"That's enough, Phantasma," she said gently, but firmly. "As you said, the colonel is a ghost, not a phantom. He is driven to finish his obligation as quickly as possible." Phanty mulled over Miss Grimwood's words and sighed as she conceded the point. She cast one last glare at Norman before wrapping him in a hug.

"I'm sorry I slapped you, but you just-! You can't-! Oh I'm sorry!" she wailed, a total one-eighty from her previous mood. Everyone laughed at the sight of a ghost struggling for unneeded breath for a few moments before Phanty let him go.

After shaking himself from Phanty, Norman fixed his gaze on Shaggy. "Now you know," he said, simple and to the point.

"Being a werewolf …" Shaggy said, "... it's been a long time coming."

Norman nodded, smiling that Shaggy finally knew. His smile dropped as he suddenly felt … odd. He glanced down to find his hands gently glowing with soft white light. He gasped as he felt something akin to chains around him shattering, and the white light spreading. Phanty gasped and covered her mouth, spectral tears like silver falling down her cheeks.

The glow spread like fire over parchment and enveloped the colonel's spirit. He collapsed into indistinct mist, shining like a golden-white torch, and began to float upward. "Goodbye, nephew, and good luck" he whispered. The cloud swirled into a column and rose out of sight.

No one spoke for several minutes after. Finally, and surprisingly, it was Elsa who broke the silence. "What just happened?"

"He Moved On," Phanty whispered, still enraptured by the sight. "His business was concluded and he Moved On." Phanty squealed in joy and flipped through the ceiling, only to descend back into the sitting room. "I've never seen a spirit Move On before! Oh, it was so pretty! Wasn't it so pretty?! Oh, happy day!"

As Phanty continued to rant with joy about how pretty it was, Scooby-Doo glanced at the couch … only to find Shaggy gone. His ear twitched at the sound of a door closing upstairs. And, given Winnie turning toward the staircase, he wasn't the only one who noticed.

Winnie started for the staircase, clearly intending to talk to Shaggy about what had happened, when she was halted by an iron grip on her shoulder. She turned to see Sibella's eyes as hard as emeralds, though not unkindly so. "Leave him be," she said. "Whatever the colonel showed him, he needs to process it on his own."

Winnie frowned and looked back toward the second floor. "What did he mean by 'it's been a long time coming'?"

Sibella recalled the prediction in her father's Grimness Book of Records. But the weight of Shaggy's words made her think that wasn't it. Whatever Shaggy had learned, it was far more … personal. Something to do with family. With blood, so to speak.

"Whatever it was," Sibella said, "he'll tell us when, and if, he's ready."

Winnie growled and flexed her nails, even as she realized the truth in Sibella's words. As much as she hated it, there was nothing she or any of the others could do. Nothing except wait.

So that's what they'd do.

* * *

Deep in the Barren Bog, the ghost of Revolta turned her head sharply at an unmistakable sensation. A faint ripple of disgusting _peace_ washed over the trees and over her, faint but still perceptible. She had felt this sensation only once before, during her earlier years of dabbling in black magic.

At one point, Revolta had taken to capturing and experimenting on ghosts and other spirits. Among other things, she had dabbled with extracting ghosts from still-living subjects, forcing spirits under her control, and using weak ghosts as conduits to control larger ones. None of these had yielded viable methods to take over Monsterdom, but it had given her enough insight to feasibly revoltize Phantasma.

During one of her earlier experiments on spirits, Revolta had been using misted potions to induce emotions in a captured subject, the ghost of a recently deceased mortal criminal. After rage, fear, and sorrow, she had tried to induce joy as a means to motivate her troops. But rather than form an addictive sensation, the ghost had ascended.

And the sense of peace she had felt during that experience was identical to the sense she had just felt.

With a snarl and fierce effort of will, Revolta wrenched herself into a fully corporeal form. The Grim Creeper yelped at her sudden appearance, fearing he had done something wrong as he dropped a burlap sack onto a makeshift table. Revolta ignored him, choosing to clasp her four hands onto the sides of her web-themed scrying mirror, pumping magic into it to both act as an anchor to the physical and to serve its original purpose.

The mirror linked with a number of venus spy traps that surrounded the Grimwood school grounds. It had become clear that the little pretender-at-power, Grimwood, had found a way to locate her Creeper's eyes. But that spell only extended to the borders of the school, a foolish oversight.

Each facet of the mirror linked to a different spy trap, allowing her a view that surrounded the school. With more magic, she used the traps as a conduit for her magical senses and felt the remnants of the ascension. But closer as she was, she could feel echoes of the spirit who had ascended — and she knew that it was not the girl phantom.

She narrowed her eyes as pain began to creep into her spectral extremities, a sign of severe weakness in her new form. With a hiss of vexation, she let go of the mirror and allowed herself to return to her incorporeal state. She growled as she felt the ectoplasm of her spirit begin to blacken at the edges of her fingers and toes. It would reform as she slowly recovered her strength, especially as the full moon approached, and she now knew that the phantom was still within the grasp of her vengeance.

But if the phantom girl had not been the one to ascend, then who had? The wards surrounding the school were still intact, meaning Grimwood was still alive. And the mummy child was too inexperienced to maintain such _sophisticated_ wards (as much as that admission galled her). And none of the other children were practiced enough in the mystic arts to do so either.

Which could only mean another spirit had visited the school.

But whom? And for what purpose? And perhaps most importantly, how had she not felt such a thing, even lacking her full power?

As she mulled over these questions, Revolta cast a glance into the physical realm to watch as her Grim Creeper laying out the contents of the sack he had been carrying. She grinned maliciously as she examined the tiny corpses of one of her most effective creations. Soon enough, her preparations would be complete and she could finally regain another powerful tool in her plans.

But until then, she'd have to make due with other forms of … entertainment.

Her evil grin widening, Revolta willed herself to approach a tree that surrounded the clearing. She reached out and forced her hand through the bark to settle at the tree's heartwood, taking hold of it. As she whispered words in a forbidden tongue and wove a dark spell, the tree began to blacken and shrivel until it was a thin, twisted mockery of its former state. Revolta sighed as magical strength returned to her, even as she hissed at the feel of more of her ectoplasm rotted.

With that done, she approached her Creeper and whispered in his ear. The creature stilled and giggled vilely as he obeyed his mistress's instructions to approach her scrying mirror and wrap his vines around it. Revolta forced all of her ghostly hands into the Grim Creeper, partly possessing him to work the magic she could not.

And in the face of the mirror appeared not the Grimwood school … but its next door neighbor. After all, those wretched boys had been instrumental in her defeat, as well. It was time for a little pre-revenge.

 **Sorry about the insane wait, everyone. Inspiration is like a rollercoaster, and the lows are the absolute worst.**

 ***I made up Shaggy's ancestor and the inherent backstory, drawing inspiration from 1941's "The Wolfman." I always wondered as a kid why Shaggy would be the one to be changed by the moon (plot-relevance aside) and so I've addressed that here. It's literally in his blood. Also, family curses that flare up every few generations are a real belief from cultures all over the world.**

 ***For those of you who are wondering, Colonel Beauregard's thick Southern drawl disappears from the narrative during his story because he isn't actually speaking. He's communicating with Shaggy spirit-to-spirit, in a way that goes beyond words. So Shaggy understands it in the most comprehensible way. Plus, it would be really hard to replicate that for the entire story.**

 ***Revolta's experiments on ghosts and spirits is also made up by me - I thought it would explain how she knew how to jack with Phantasma, as there's no way it's as simple as working on flesh-and-blood monsters.**

 **Thanks for your patience everyone! Let's hope I can crank out the next faster. Leave a review with questions or predictions!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

As the waxing moon shone down upon the land, preparing for the sunrise, it found cadet Jamal Williams standing on the roof of Calloway's Military Academy, arms crossed on the rails as he gazed unseeing over the grounds and thought over what had brought him out here.

Less than an hour ago, the seventeen-year-old had woken from a hellish nightmare, drenched in sweat, his head pounding, and his teeth and jaw aching from tension. The details from the dream had faded like ink swept away in a river, but the sense of terror remained, even now.

Jamal shivered and drew his academy hoodie closer around him, almost desperately searching for something else to occupy his thoughts. On a whim, he glanced to the right at the old Grimwood place. The haunting building, with its rickety appearance and bizarre occupants, had always had a way of distracting him and his friends.

And right now, he was more than glad for such a thing.

Jamal took hold of the rabbit trails of thought that the old school brought up like a fish on a hook. After a few moments, he settled upon the most common subject for the crew: the odd and mysterious students of Grimwood. And, he was unashamed to admit, quite appealing, in a strange, exotic way.

With that, Jamal wandered onto the subject of the Grimwood girl who reminded him, in a roundabout way, of home. He believed her name was Phantasma. An appropriate name for a spirit.

Jamal was no fool — he knew that the Grimwood girls were not human. And further, he knew they were monsters.

He wasn't sure how many of his friends had reached that inevitable conclusion, but he knew without a doubt that he was right. Sure, he'd been in denial when they were kids, as most people seemed to be in the modern age, but time had poked holes in that denial until he was faced with the truth. Lucky for him, his gramma's stories had helped him adjust.

Like the rest of his friends, Jamal came from a military family. His great-grandfather had served in the US Army during the Second World War and received commendation, and every generation since had entered the army. Sure, there had been discrimination, but less with each era until his father had risen to the rank of colonel. Which had led to Jamal's enrollment at Calloway's, with his father's not-so-secret hopes that Jamal would eventually be one of the rare African American generals.

But it was his mother's side that had helped him adjust to their neighbors-slash-rivals. Jamal had grown up in Savannah, Georgia, the most haunted city in the US, so he was more than familiar with tales of ghosts and phantoms. But more than that was his gramma, his mother's mother, who had been a hoodoo practitioner. As a boy, she had told him stories about spirits and creatures that lurked in the realm between life and death.

His parents had tried to assure him that his gramma's tales were just that, tall tales. But after Jamal had told her about their loss at the hands of Grimwood five years ago, and he had described the girls at her suggestion, she had revealed her opinion on the matter: Miss Grimwood's school was a school for monster girls. It had somehow made perfect sense, and Jamal had never looked at the school or its inhabitants the same again.

As he thought this over, his train of thought returned to Phantasma, and a faint tinge of color arose in his cheeks. The corner of his mouth twitched at the memory of her characteristic mad cackle, a sound that, while grating to others, always made him want to laugh along. Creeping further down that rabbit hole, he shook his head to dispel thoughts of what was under that western poncho she always wore. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts.

As the treeline began to glow, heralding the coming dawn, Jamal sighed and decided to return to his room. It wouldn't do to be caught out of bed. At his age, a bad dream was no excuse for bending regulations. And at the thought of his dream, after a shiver of dread, Jamal halted midstep and thought of his gramma with a faint smile. After her insight into the Grimwood girls, he'd always taken more stock in her "beliefs."

Maybe she had something to help his dreams.

* * *

In the attic of the Grimwood school, the very object of Jamal's thoughts watched the sun slowly peek over the treeline. In what she felt was not unexpected, she hadn't been able to sleep much last night.

Phanty floated through the massive attic that sat above every ceiling of the school's second floor and peeked through the wood into the hallway outside Coach Shaggy's room. Winnie and Scooby-Doo lay curled up outside his door, stubbornly refusing to leave. Both were clearly determined to be the first to meet Shaggy when he'd worked through whatever existential crisis the ghost colonel's visit had wrought. Phanty was briefly tempted to peek into the coach's room, but she pushed it aside. Now more than ever she had to respect the living's need for privacy.

Floating back up to the attic, Phanty returned to her own room and settled on her hammock, gently swaying as she mulled over what had happened last night. Oh sure, the big event was the arrival of Colonel Beauregard and his possession of Shaggy, which he had apparently used to reveal some world-shattering family secret, followed by his Moving On.

Phanty could be nothing but happy for the old ghost's fate. Every spirit that had once been alive felt the sense of faint wrongness about themselves, the sense that they didn't quite belong. Oh sure, it was quiet and easily ignored most of the time, but it still remained no matter what. For more than a few ghosts, and even the rare phantom, the feeling grew too deep and drove them to madness. This created some of the most dangerous spirits in existence, those who lashed out at everything they could find until they were exorcised or destroyed.

Phanty rarely felt the tug of that feeling, her self-worth assured by her father, her friends, and her headmistress. And even when they couldn't distract her, she could always drown herself in her music for a while, letting the melodies wash away her despair.

After everyone had noticed Shaggy was gone, Miss Grimwood had sent the girls to bed early with plates to eat in their rooms. Scooby had delivered a large plate to Shaggy, which he had quickly snatched from the hall without a word. As per Miss Grimwood's hushed request, the girls hadn't discussed the events of the evening … but Phanty could _feel_ the tension that rested over the school. Everyone was thinking about it.

What could have shaken Coach Shaggy so deeply that he would shut himself away like this?

With a heavy sigh, Phanty bit her lip and floated over to an iron chest that she always kept at the school, on her father's request. With a snap of her fingers and a brush of telekinesis, the lid unlocked and eased open, revealing a number of goods from a time Phanty could hardly remember.

From her life.

Digging through the contents, Phanty removed an old-fashioned photograph of a lovely young woman and a ruggedly handsome young man standing in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. The date was elegantly scribbled in the corner at October 30th of 1913. The names were not written, but Phanty knew them all the same. Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and his wife Christine Daae.

Her birth parents.

Phanty felt her eyes burn, a psychological response to her sadness. Spirits had no need to cry, but the soul remembered a time when it could. And right now, Phanty remembered. She remembered what her father had told her about her history, right after their first year with Coach Shaggy.

After Erik, the so-called Phantom of the Opera, had passed away, his spirit had been bound to this life by his love for Christine. With no way to cross over, he had decided to watch over her, and to a lesser extent Raoul. Within a year after their marriage, Christine was with child. The birth had been difficult, but everyone had lived. And the vicomte and his wife had a lovely daughter.

It was two years later that the child had died from disease.

Confused and frightened, as was the way with many young souls, the child had stayed behind to be with her family. But they could not see or hear her, she could not ease their sorrows. The child-spirit would surely have gone mad, had it not been for the phantom Erik.

Erik had taken the child in and, in an act of sheer will and with a final declaration of eternal love, shattered the bonds that held him to Christine. He took in the child and gave her purpose, helped her understand what she was and how to live her unlife.

And he gave her a new name: Phantasma.

Phanty sniffled and replaced the photograph, closing the box and locking it again. She floated back to her hammock and sat down, gently rocking as she continued to think. She had only a few hazy memories of her living family, which had only returned after her father had told her the story. And by then, Christine and Raoul had been long dead. And on rare occasions, like now, she wished that she'd had the chance to meet them.

Glancing at her window, Phanty plucked a slab of marble from the sill. The slab, known as a Likeness, was sized like a portrait and soaked in magical ink that would respond to a spell to create a picture, an alternative to photography that allowed the presence of phantoms and vampires.

This Likeness had been crafted by Miss Grimwood just before last summer had started, and portrayed the ghouls in a group. All of them were close together and laughing, from Winnie's chortles and Phanty herself's manic cackles, to Tanis giggles, to Elsa and Sibella's more reserved chuckles. To a ghoul, they were happy to be with each other.

Phanty smiled as her eyes burned again, not from sorrow but from joy, and that feeling of wrongness was once again vanished to the back of her perception. She replaced the Likeness and checked the time. With a yelp, she realized she was almost late for breakfast.

And with a carefree cackle, she zoomed through her door to join her friends.

* * *

With tired circles under his eyes, Scooby lay in front of Shaggy's door, his head on Winnie's lap as she slowly scratched behind his ears. The Great Dane hadn't slept a moment in the night, determined to be there when Shaggy finally opened back up.

Silent as a shadow, Sibella approached the two. "Winnie, Miss Grimwood's asked you to come down to breakfast," she quietly informed.

"I'm not hungry," Winnie replied, her throat scratchy from lack of sleep.

"She still wants you to come and sit with us," Sibella informed, her tone stern but compassionate. Winnie gave a faint growl, instinctively itching against authority, before sighing and gently moving away from Scooby. "I'll be back soon," she said. Scooby gave a faint wag of his tail in acknowledgement.

"If you wish, Scooby-Doo, you are welcome to join us," Sibella called over her shoulder. Scooby didn't even bother to wag his tail at that, too tired and too sad to muster up the energy. It had only been a few moments after their footsteps faded away before Scooby's head shot up at the sound of a lock unclicking and faintly-rusted hinges moving.

Scooby shot to his feet to find Shaggy looking down at him, looking even more exhausted than Scooby felt. But he still gave a faint smile. "Mornin', Scoob," he said. And with those simple words, Scooby knew he was alright. Too tired to jump up and hug him, Scooby settled for pressing his head against Shaggy's hand, earning a scratch at the crown of his head.

"What'ya say we go for a quick run?" Shaggy asked. "You know, just two best buddies?"

* * *

Curled up in the corner of the dining room, Matches could almost literally feel the tension that had settled over the table. Everyone was quiet, which was in itself a cause for concern. In all of Matches' life, he could remember a handful of mornings that were not filled with chatter. From light, inane small talk to heavy subjects plaguing monster society, his mistress and nestmates always talked at breakfast.

But not now.

Miss Grimwood had made a valiant effort at the beginning to stir conversation, and a few of the girls had tried to keep it going, but it was not to be. Winnie was silent as a tomb, and the rest of them were hardly better. Matches growled, an inaudible rumble deep in his throat. He wasn't a fool — he knew everyone were still concerned about what had happened last night. The fact that the coach hadn't emerged from his room only added to the tension.

Matches whined and unrolled himself before padding over to Winnie, who sat and poked at her food with her chin on her palm. The werewolf had clearly taken this situation the hardest, her concern for a fellow of her kin rather than just a coach. With a faint smirk, he lashed his forked tongue out and snatched a piece of blackened bacon from her plate and gulping it down.

Winnie straightened up and stared, wide-eyed and clearly not happy with that. Matches chuckled and flicked his tongue again … only to have Winnie snatch it from the air before he could get another piece. "You really wanna go now, little lizard?" Winnie asked, using the name she had always used to try and goad him when he was a hatchling.

Matches snorted smoke into her face and pulled on his tail, which he had surreptitiously wrapped around the back legs of her chair. Winnie yelped as she fell backward, stunning her long enough for Matches to snatch another piece of bacon, this time keeping it between his teeth as a reminder, and bolt from the room.

"Hey," Winnie shouted, failing to conceal the laugh beneath her temper. She charged after him, leaving the laughter of her friends behind.

"Leave it to Matches to get a predator out of her funk," Elsa commented.

"You realize," Sibella commented with a flash in her eyes, "that I am a predator as well."

"And yet, I don't see Winnie laughing and chasing you."

Sibella could only huff in reply, even with the corner of her mouth ever-so-slightly turned up.

* * *

Winnie belted out a laugh as Matches jumped and latched onto a tree trunk, rising up it in a serpentine corkscrew movement. When he was secured in a branch, the dragon bared his fangs at her in the facsimile of a mocking grin, flicking his tongue for good measure.

Winnie huffed a playful growl and briefly looked over the trunk, her ear twitching in annoyance when she realized it was far too thick to slash through with her claws, even with her lupine strength. And by the time she ran and got the ax from the school gardening shed, Matches would have already moved.

Winnie tapped her claw to her lip in thought until a familiar sound pierced the morning. A werewolf howl, and a somewhat high-pitched one. Her ears shifting, Winnie locked onto the sound and charged toward it. That howl could only be the coach, which meant he'd finally emerged from his room. Winnie briefly cursed herself and Sibella for pulling her away from her vigil, but cast that aside. Sibella had only been trying to help.

Winnie dove onto all fours and continued her chase, a faint breeze carrying the coach's scent as well as Scooby-Doo's. After a few more minutes, Winnie spotted movement through the trees dotting the grounds and poured on even more speed. It was only as she drew nearer that she realized it was indeed the coach — running on two legs.

Huh?

Winnie sharply inhaled as a sense of primal joy washed over her, the undeniable thrill of running with a pack. And Shaggy was a part of her pack just as she was a part of his. Scooby, too. Between heavy breaths, Winnie loosed her own howl, pouring all of her emotion into it.

Shaggy's ears shot up and he looked backward. "Winnie?" he cried, just before his foot caught a root and sent him sprawling. Winnie yelped and dug her claws into the ground to skid to a halt, shaking off the vestiges of the thrill of the chase, and returned to the coach and Scooby.

Shaggy growled and shook himself in a distinctly canine fashion. He stood back up and looked at his trembling hands, his breathing heavy. After a few moments, he looked up at her. "Winnie? What are you doing out here? I thought you had breakfast with the girls and Miss G?"

"Matches stole my bacon, so I chased him out here," Winnie hesitantly replied. Shaggy and Scooby glanced at each other and shrugged. Clearly, had it been them in her place, they would have done the same.

"Wait, hold on," Winnie interrupted as a thought crossed her mind, "how'd you know about that? How-?" Winnie's eyes widened as she realized the answer. "You-" she took a step back, "-you didn't want me to see you."

Shaggy looked down, shame written over his features, and she knew she was right.

"I'm sorry, Winnie. After what Uncle Beauregard showed me, I-" he clenched his hands into fists, the joints audibly crackling, "I just had to think." Shaggy looked up in surprise when Winnie … barked?!

"That's not how it works, Rogers!" Winnie snapped. "You're a werewolf! You're a packmate! And here's a lesson: when one member of the pack hurts, we all hurt! Wolves don't bottle it up, we pass it along. Our strength is their strength, just like their strength is ours! It's called community! A wolf-!"

"I'M _NOT_ A WOLF!" Shaggy roared.

Winnie paled beneath her fur, but she set her feet and didn't flinch. She could feel Shaggy's inner turmoil through the bond … and she knew he needed to do this.

"I never asked for this, Winnie!" Shaggy continued. "I was perfectly fine as a run-of-the-mill guy, just another joe on the street! I never wanted money or fame or wisdom! I just wanted to live a peaceful life, maybe find a nice girl who loved dogs too and settle down — have some kids and a white picket fence, work 'til I retired and live out the rest of my days sitting on the porch drinking sweet tea with one of Scooby's pups sleeping next to me! I wanted peace, not to have my body twisted and my mind warped into an animal!"

Shaggy panted for a moment, his entire skinny frame trembling. And like a candle blown out, the anger drained from his face and left only sorrow in its wake. He collapsed to his hands and knees and … tears began to fall to the grass. "I didn't ask for this," he whispered.

"I can't do it, Winnie," he gasped, sobs wracking his body. "It's too big, too much." He paused, more crying. "And wouldn't you know it's happened before?"

Scooby approached Shaggy from behind where he'd hidden behind Winnie, whimpering in sympathy. Like a lifeline, Shaggy buried his face in Scooby's neck and continued to sob, the Great Dane curling his head over Shaggy's shoulder in a hug. After a moment's hesitation, Winnie knelt down, in full human form, and hugged the coach too.

After a few more minutes, Shaggy's sobs quieted to sniffling and he drew away, running his hands over his face to dry the tears. He sighed and smiled faintly at Winnie, the look sheepish and full of regret as well as gratitude.

"Sorry about all that, Winnie. I just-" Shaggy hiccuped — and in a flash of yellow light, Shaggy's fur and fangs disappeared. He looked down and his mouth fell open in shock. But before he could say anything, he hiccupped again and Changed back. "Wha- what the-?" Shaggy felt at his throat, waiting for another hiccup. But nothing came.

"Huh," Winnie commented. "Guess when you got all that off your chest, you synced up with your Other. But it wasn't real balance, just a fluke."

Shaggy growled and kneaded the grass with his claws. He sighed, exhausted from the last ten or so minutes. "I'm still sorry about all the stuff I said, Winnie," he chuckled. "I didn't mean 'em. Well, I mean, I guess I kinda did, but-"

"It's fine," Winnie cut in. To be perfectly honest, she was a little hurt by his little spiel, but she understood a little. "My papa felt something like that when he realized he wasn't ever going back to being mortal. You just … you have to come to terms with it on your own."

They sat in silence for a moment … until Shaggy grunted and stood up. "Then help me adjust," he said firmly.

Winnie looked up and stood as well, flicking back to her lupine form. "What?"

"Like, I'll tell you, all of you, what my uncle showed me later. But first, I wanna make something clear. To you and to me. Control is possible. Your papa is proof of that, and so was what he showed me." Shaggy looked up into the sky, at the faint outline of the waxing gibbous on the horizon. "And if it kills me, I'll learn."

 **Sorry about the delay, everyone. Hope this makes up for it!**

 ***Hope y'all like the backstory I gave Jamal. I plan to try and work up a unique background for all of the cadets. And the choice for Phanty (based on the dance at the end of "Ghoul School") was either Jamal or Miguel. I picked Jamal on impulse.**

 ***I've been hyped up to explain Phanty's origins for a while now. I based it on and tried to pay homage to the ending of the "Phantom of the Opera" novel.**

 ***The last two segments came all at once; I just hit a stride. I had absolutely no intention of writing a scene with Matches, it just happened. I like how it came out.**

 ***The final segment with Shaggy's rant was a product of even purer inspiration. Let's face it, Shaggy's a nice guy - but everyone has to deal with stress and grief. Five stages, and he's moved past anger. I really hope I was able to keep him somewhat realistic. I also hope Winnie was in character here, too. Sometimes it can be hard to tell.**

 **Let me know what y'all think! Opinions and critiques are always appreciated!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Shaggy sighed through his nose as the autumn breeze washed over him, leaves crackling in its grasp as they were swept further into the woods on the Grimwood grounds. Wrapped in a wool bathrobe, he tapped his nail on the boulder he'd taken as a seat, trying to will his trepidation away.

To distract himself, he reflected on the last week.

Shaggy was honest enough to admit he wasn't proud of his behavior in recent days. His temper had been short (though, frankly, most would call it average — but it was short for _him_ ) and his patience had suffered as well. The girls had been completely understanding, with Winnie herself mentioning it was a symptom of the coming full moon. And with it being his first, it was all the harder.

As he had promised, Shaggy had recounted his vision from Colonel Beauregard, with bordering-on-perfect clarity. Phanty had mentioned that being forced to experience something by a spirit, especially one related by blood, basically carved it into one's memory. Well, he could certainly vouch for that.

The responses to his tale had been mixed, from Elsa's desire to examine the implications about lycanthropy to Tanis's empathy for his ancestor's suffering to Winnie's steadfast belief that this was a good sign for his control issues. Shaggy was on the fence, his innate senses of optimism and healthy fear warring in a way that he had never felt before.

On one hand, Shaggy was beyond grateful that the girls were so understanding. Even Matches seemed less grumpy than usual, sensitive to the suffering of a fellow predator. On the other, he was beginning to feel unworthy of such allowances. He had been raised to be patient, to never raise his hand or voice in anger. And this irrational temper … it was mocking that deep-seated belief.

At this point, on the threshold, he could only hope that things would get better.

Shaggy swallowed thickly as he felt a sense of anticipation rise even higher in his very bones. Even beyond his fraying patience, Shaggy had felt for some time a sense of how close the full moon was. He hadn't noticed until Winnie had mentioned it, but he was always, in one way or another, aware of its phase. At night, he was even aware of the direction — he could point out the moon's location blindfolded.

Shaggy's ear twitched as he heard a twig snap in the treeline. A waft of the breeze brought the familiar scent to Winnie as she emerged into the starlight in her human form, dressed in a similar (if much shorter) robe that did little to hide her curves. Like him, she would be wearing as little as possible underneath — it was the only way to preserve the clothes they owned. Shaggy winced at the memory of Winnie mentioning that she usually rode out the full moon in the buff, but she was willing to forego that for his sake. For which he was grateful.

"Not long now," Winnie said. Shaggy remained silent. After all, what was there to say at this point?

On sheer reflex, Shaggy looked up at the sky to the south east … to find the full moon emerging from the horizon. And at the moment he gazed upon it, felt the kiss of the light on his skin … he felt it.

 _The Change_.

Shaggy grunted as he felt it begin to rise up, the sheer primal _energy_ of the Mother Moon. Distantly, detachedly, he felt his fur thicken, his nails and fangs grow longer, his muscles swell and his bones creak and twist to accommodate such a thing. But none of it mattered!

He was — more than anything — _ALIVE_!

* * *

On the roof of the school, Sibella sat with her arms crossed over her knees. At the moment the disk of the moon emerged from the treeline, she caught the familiar sound of Winnie's transformation. The faint growls overlaying the crackling and popping that would be too quiet for a mortal at this distance, followed soon by twin howls — Winnie's rich high peal and the sound that could only be Shaggy's call.

As the two raced away from the school and into the woods, indistinct blurs even to her inhuman vision, Sibella lay back and sprawled across the roof to enjoy the full moon in her own way. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, even though she had no real need, and was content to simply _be_ for the night.

The line between vampires and werewolves was actually far thinner than most realized. Both were supernatural apex predators, both were tied to the night, both were feared and admired by man and monster alike. It was not unusual for slain werewolves to arise as vampires if improperly buried.

Another link between the two was a fascination with the full moon. True, werewolves clearly had a greater affinity for the event, any blind fool could see that. But nosferatu, as well, derived strength and clarity from the silvery light. Sibella's preliminary studies in magic with her father, himself a knowledgeable mystic, had covered the attributes of the full moon on magic, which helped explain such things. She grinned as she thought over Elsa's explanation for the moon's glow, the fact that moonlight was merely reflected sunlight delightfully ironic.

And it wasn't just vampires and werewolves. The Egyptians recognized the power of the moon, personified in their god Khonshu. Tanis had once spent an entire night telling stories of great and powerful spells ancient priests had woven on the brightest of nights. The bolstering effects even affected spirits and phantoms, most often seen in ghosts becoming more active and agitated on these nights.

All of this passed through Sibella's mind as she considered joining her best friend and their coach on their run. After a few more moments, she decided against it for tonight. This was, after all, Shaggy's first full moon — a sacred time for werewolves akin to a coming-of-age rite. It was not her place to impose on such a thing, nor the next two nights.

And she'd still have eight more full moons to spend with Winnie and Shaggy before the school term ended.

As Sibella continued to breathe deeply, her nails lengthening almost into claws and dark veins protruding at her wrists, inner elbows, and temples, she twitched at the sense of something … dark in the air. She sat up, eyes clenched shut, ears primed, and nostrils flared as she sniffed the air. No other strange sense came to her, so she exhaled and relaxed back to the shingles of the roof to relax. As her mind wandered, she snickered at the thought of her "moon bathing," was similar to mortals "tanning."

Another pair of howls arose into the sky … drowning out the faint groan from the distant forest.

* * *

Revolta sneered at the sight in her cracked scrying mirror of the two werewolves sprinting across the grounds of the Grimwood school, thrilled to simply _live_ in the moment. With a hiss, she passed her hand over the glass, dispelling the illusion. The faint use of magic caused her form to flicker at the edges of her fingers, drawing another hiss.

And yet, on this powerful night, she could work great and terrible things.

"Creeper," she commanded, "you better be ready."

"Yes, Revolta," the Grim Creeper whimpered. He drew closer, cringing faintly, before sighing and trying to relax even as he clenched his eye shut. He waited a few seconds and nothing happened. Confused, he peeked his eye open ... and that moment of weakness left him vulnerable. He yelped as Revolta's spirit rammed into him, phasing through his body and taking control.

In this way, using the Grim Creeper as an anchor for her spirit, Revolta could channel far greater power than as a mere disembodied shade. The Creeper groaned as he felt his mistress take hold of his flesh, his mind forced into the role of a mere observer. True, he would serve his mistress in any way she needed, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable.

Revolta's cackle emanated from the Creeper's throat, his maw twisted into a semblance of her wicked grin. His fore-vines wrapped around her wand, her power flowing into it through him. The twin tips alit with crimson flames that were held directly over the lodestone that stored the power of a thunderstorm.

Pinned to the stone with copper needles were an evening bat and a brown recluse spider, each twitching on the precipice of death. Tongue darting over jagged lips with anticipation, Revolta used the Creeper to tap the lodestone with the wand, the fiery energy washing over the lodestone and seeping into the spidery runes carved all over it. The runes flared with the same glaring light, scarlet electricity flaring up around the stone.

The electricity rose up the stone in a powerful current and took hold of the bat and spider. The copper needles fell away as the two creatures were jerked together, their vulnerable flesh and minds merging. Their bodies wove together in a sickening tapestry, twin cries overlapping and fusing into a horrific shriek.

When the red glow faded, Revolta looked upon the latest in one of her favorite creations. A perfectly malformed spider-bat twitched upon the stones top before its eyes shot open and a cruel rictus grin spread across its muzzle to bear terrifying fangs. Without another sound, the creature shook itself and flew to an adjacent tree, hanging upside down to watch its mistress.

Revolta, within the vessel of the Creeper, reached down and lifted a smaller second cauldron, this one pewter with runes etched in silver, filled with offal and animal parts. With a first spider-bat to work with, she could now create more of them … en masse. She placed the cauldron on the lodestone and chanted, weaving horrific enchantments of nominal creation. The electricity stored in the stone flared up far more powerfully than before and charged the cauldron.

A hail of shrieks, muffled by the spells Revolta had placed over the castle ruins to hide her presence, filled the clearing as more of her terrible minions arose from the muck.

With a pained gasp, Revolta tore herself from the Creeper, her form flickering. A part of her wished she could continue to use him, to harness his body as a permanent anchor, but he was too fundamentally different from what she had been. As her spectral form flickered, slowly returning to indistinction, she cast her gaze at her simmering cauldron and grinned.

That particular problem would be solved soon enough ...

* * *

As the sun began to peek over the horizon, its rays found Shaggy laying face down in the mud. His eyelids fluttered and he groaned, slowly working himself up to roll over onto his back. He weakly spat at the mug clinging to his lips before wiping his muzzle with the back of his hand. And then spitting more as that only made it worse.

After a moment to collect himself, he sat up, his ears twitching at the sound of running water. His eyes focused to find himself sitting immersed up to his waist in a small creek, his upper body lying on the bank. A fog seemed to hang over his senses, like a hangover without the headache.

As he scratched at the back of his head, careful of his claws, the fog suddenly lifted. Shaggy jumped as he recalled snippets of the previous night. It was like recalling a fever dream, the memories warped and difficult to pin down. Flashes of sensation — the feeling of wind in his fur, the smells of the forest, the sight of everything bathed in the glow of the Mother Moon — all bound by the same frenzied, mindless energy.

As Shaggy moved to stand from the creek, he yelped as he realized he was stark naked. He sunk back down and carefully thought over this particular situation. In retrospect, this was a probable situation. And he really, really, should have considered solutions. But, as they say, hindsight was twenty-twenty.

And he was faced with the problem of returning to his room without being seen.

Shaggy was just about to call for Scooby and hope to high heaven that the Great Dane heard him when he was surprised by someone clearing their throat. Shaggy yelped and looked over his shoulder to find Miss Grimwood standing a bit further down the creek, a knowing, matronly smile on her face. Like an aunt who had seen too much childish antics to be surprised by anything.

"In a bit of a bind, Coach?" she asked lightly.

"Like, yeah," Shaggy stammered. "Something like that."

"Never fear, Shaggy, I have just the thing." From a satchel hanging room her shoulder, Miss Grimwood produced a towel and a change of clothes from his own dresser. Shaggy smiled and started to rise before remembering that Miss Grimwood was still here, to which she chuckled good-naturedly. "Oh, don't worry, Shaggy. I'm quite old, I've seen it all before."

"Uh, still," Shaggy said. "Could you, like, turn around or something?"

"Very well," she replied and spun on her heel. Shaggy moved quickly. Wrapping the towel around himself and drying his fur before quickly slipping the clothes on. "Better?" Miss Grimwood asked after a few moments.

"Like, yeah," Shaggy chuckled. Leave it to Miss Grimwood to think ahead for the embarrassing mistakes of a novice werewolf. Heck, Winnie had probably- Wait, Winnie! "Uh, Miss Grimwood-?" he began.

"Not to worry, Shaggy," Miss Grimwood interrupted as she began leading the way to the school. "Winnie has been going through this for years and we all know what to expect. Usually I would be the one to bid her good morning and the like, but I thought you would be far too uncomfortable being greeted by any of the girls."

"Can't argue there," Shaggy groused goodnaturedly. "So who's helping out Winnie? Sibella?"

"No. None of the girls," she answered, a bit cryptically.

"The butler?" Shaggy guessed. That was an odd thought, even for him.

"Nope."

Shaggy's eyes widened as he narrowed down the last person it could be and shook his head. "Ah." As they continued their trek back, Shaggy wondered why Miss Grimwood had found Shaggy instead of sending Scooby to do it.

"In case you had questions," Miss Grimwood answered his apparently-verbal inquiry. "Do you?"

"Not really," Shaggy admitted. He'd probably come up with something later, but for now he just needed time to process.

"Oh, well. Lesson learned. I just hope Scooby finds Winnie soon. It is Friday, after all, and we still have lessons."

* * *

Scooby tread carefully, nose at the ground as he followed the trail of Winnie's scent. Scooby knew that Great Danes were not scent hounds from Shaggy and Velma's childhood research when he had just been adopted, but whoever had decided that had never met Scooby-Doo. Scooby's nose was a marvel for his breed. Freddie had at least once called it a "super-sleuth" nose — and he wasn't at all wrong.

But it wasn't finding the scent that made this track difficult. Quite the opposite — it was the overpowering _strength_ of the trail. Scooby kept himself from wincing as he followed the trail of Winnie's usual scent, laced with eye-burning doses of excitement, adrenaline, and something that bordered on bloodlust. All together, it was a smell that made his nostrils burn and his eyes water.

But Scooby was nothing if not a faithful dog, and he kept at it.

Finally, Scooby lifted his head to find himself in a clearing within the wooded groves at one end of the (surprisingly expansive) Grimwood property. The trees around the clearing were layered with claw marks, much like those he had found when Shaggy had just turned into a werewolf, and the clearing itself was full of long grass. In the center of the clearing, illuminated by sunbeams that peeked through the trees, lay Winnie.

Unlike most humans, Scooby was utterly unaffected by Winnie's state of undress. Especially since she was in full-human form. As Scooby quietly drew nearer, he cocked his head in surprise at her position and her expression. Rather than the feverish haze he had expected, Winnie was splayed out with boneless, contented relaxation in a depression of tamped-down grass that formed a kind of nest. Her expression was somehow even more relaxed, as if she were utterly at peace with the world.

Deciding to let Winnie remain at peace for a few more minutes, Scooby sat on his haunches and examined her. Despite being a dog, Scooby had some appreciation for human beauty (growing up with an adolescent boy would do that to you if you listened enough — and Scooby was a good enough dog to listen to most of his owner's teenaged ramblings about girls). Objectively, Scooby knew that each of the girls ranged anywhere from adorable, to pretty, to outright gorgeous. And Winnie, in his opinion, fell into the latter category.

Granted, it was more along the lines of a human dog owner appreciating a finely-bred dog, but still.

Glancing up at the color of the sunbeams, Scooby decided it was time and gently nudged Winnie with his nose. Winnie sighed and opened her eyes to focus on Scooby. "Hey there, Scooby," she said with a faint smile before pushing herself into a sitting position. "Did Miss Grimwood send you?"

Scooby snickered and bucked off the messenger bag that had been hanging across his back the whole time. Winnie open it to find a change of clothes and, bless the headmistress, a package of smoked beef. In a flash, she'd torn a piece off with her teeth and was heartily chewing.

Winnie glanced at Scooby to find him sitting and showing off some of the biggest puppy-eyes she had ever seen. She laughed and tore of piece of the meat off, tossing it into the treeline. When Scooby had bolted for the treat, she stuck the rest between her teeth and dressed quickly.

After a few minutes, Winnie and Scooby were on their way back to the school. She glanced up at the horizon, gauging the approximate time, and huffed at the realization that it was almost past breakfast. In a flash, she Changed into her werewolf form and scarfed down her jerky. Like an arrow, she dove to all fours and raced across the grounds with Scooby following close behind.

Mother Moon help her, she wanted some time to talk to the coach about his first full moon.

* * *

Tanis delicately picked at her charred bacon and rotten eggs, unable to bring herself to speak. The atmosphere at the breakfast table was tense, that uncomfortable kind of tension that was similar and yet so different from the past week. That had been bad tension, Coach Shaggy's temper waning against his will.

This was just awkward.

Coach Shaggy drummed his claws on the tabletop, eyes unfocused and brow knitted over a _full plate_! That in itself was a cause for concern. If Shaggy wasn't hungry, there was definitely something wrong.

Tanis let her gaze wander along the table. Sibella seemed as composed and graceful as ever. The vampiress looked up at Tanis's gaze and winked with the faintest of smirks before returning to her meal. Elsa had long-finished and was intent on patching up a stitch on her arm. Tanis briefly smiled at the sight of green silk thread, a suggestion of her own. Phanty was visibly working to keep quiet, and looked like she were ready to explode. And Miss Grimwood was as serene as always, happily munching on her bacon with scum syrup.

The silence was thankfully broken by a the familiar sound of the dining room door flying open, revealing Winnie in all her feral glory. She paused for a split second at the nearly-tangible quiet that settled back onto the room before shaking herself and taking her seat.

"So …" she asked, "how'd everyone sleep?"

 **Hey, hey, everyone! So, so sorry about the long, long wait. Big changes in life and a dormant muse means little creative juice. Hoping this chapter makes up for it.**

 ***The lore on vampires and werewolves actually is really similar, with a lot of areas making them all but interchangeable. It really was a belief that a werewolf that was buried improperly would rise as a vampire.**

 ***In the original novel "Dracula", Van Helsing mentions that the count was knowledgeable in magic. I figure he'd teach Sibella as well.**

 ***Scooby's excellent sense of smell is canon. Fred called it his "super slueth nose" in "Hassle in the Castle".**

 ***For those of you reading too deep, I am NOT, repeat: NOT, starting up a Scooby/Winnie pairing! Scooby in canon has shown some kind of attraction to human women (Reluctant Werewolf comes to mind) and dogs (Alien Invaders and Legend of the Chupacabra). But like Shaggy, he views the girls as close friends and nothing more.**

 **Thanks for reading, and for the follows and favorites that have come pouring in. You're all awesome!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Shaggy grunted at the odd sensation crawling down his back and shoulders. He lay belly-down on a table provided by Miss Grimwood, who had suggested he take a personal day from coaching and relax before discussing his first full moon experience. She'd even offered a method, and Shaggy had been tense enough to try anything.

That's how he'd ended up laying on a table with a towel draped over his lower body as the octopus butler — whose name was Jenkins, he'd just found out — alternately gripped and removed the suction cups of his tentacles over his major muscle groups. Shaggy was grateful Jenkins had slathered his tentacles in warm oil, first.

Shaggy sighed as the initial strangeness of suction cups along his body faded and he started to genuinely relax. Each point provided a strong center of pressure, and worked just as well as the strongest human fingers. Heck, the opposite direction of pressure may have even been better.

"You know what's funny?" Shaggy asked. The butler remained silent, but a sharp popping noise was his way of expressing interest. "One of my oldest friends came from money, and she had a butler growing up who was also named Jenkins. He didn't say much except for courtesy phrases, but he was always handy and willing to help out a bunch of crazy kids." Shaggy laughed at the memories of when the gang had been young, long before Mystery Inc, and had gotten into all kinds of low-key mischief around town.

After about an hour, Jenkins had finished and bowed politely before departing. This left Shaggy alone to slowly redress, each and every one of his muscles, even his jaw, worked to gooey bliss. Oh sure, he could feel the tension and confusion slowly trying to settle back into his belly and bones, but he felt far more balanced than he had before.

"Like, wonder why Miss G didn't suggest this when I first got here." Then again, he'd just started readjusting to the school. It had probably been for the best. After finally lacing up his torn-open shoes, Shaggy stood and stretched, the joints all over his body crackling pleasantly. He glanced at an old-fashioned clock on the wall and decided he had enough time to put in some real work into planning the upcoming obstacle race course.

As he thought over the girls' various improvements over the last couple of weeks, Shaggy couldn't help but grin. Even if the cadets managed to pull out a win, they'd have to fight tooth and nail for it.

* * *

Outside Calloways' school, Tug Roper was spending the day trying to banish a headache. Part of him was frustrated that the day was being tainted by it, but the far larger part of him was grateful that the Colonel had decided to give them one of his sparse and random non-Sunday off-days when its was needed.

Frankly, Tug doubted this was a coincidence. The colonel was gruff and demanding, his methods often harsh and his standards high, but he was not a cruel man. And he'd clearly noticed the results of the "affliction" that had taken to his students.

That's what the Crew had begun calling the persistent, recurring nightmares that had been plaguing all of them of late. They'd discussed it several times, but none could determine a cause or even remember the dreams. The stress of it, and lack of sleep, had caused a downturn in all of their physical conditions, a lot like the flu.

When the affliction had spread to all of them, Jamal had taken him aside and voiced what he had been thinking. The cause was not natural at all. He had gone on to explain his observations about the Grimwood girls and his theories about them. To anyone else, he would have sounded insane. But Tug had figured it out, too. And Jamal's plan to ask his gramma for help had been met with full support.

After all, what harm could it do?

The thought of family drew Tug's gaze to the neatly opened package at his feet. His father had sent him a sketch pad and new charcoal pencils when he'd heard about the headaches. Tug chuckled at the thought, knowing that his military mother and decorative baker father was an odd combination to most.

Blinking those thoughts away, Tug returned his attention to his sketchbook and his near-complete drawing. He'd long accepted his muse, a subject that filled his sketchbooks. Sibella Dracula. The drawing was quite realistic, an image of the vampiress in a grove of willow trees, surrounded by a swarm of bats.

Tug blushed at the thought of some of his earlier drawings after he'd come to grips with his admiration for Sibella. Only slightly less-realistic images of her, or at least his idea of her, in what could generously be called the boudoir style. Clad in lingerie, bedsheets, small swimsuits, skimpy bathrobes … the list went on. _Damned hormones_. And it's not like she made it any easier with her smoldering green eyes and that sensual half-smile.

Tug slapped himself and gently erased the last few strokes of his pencil that had gone askew during his wandering thoughts. As he retraced them, Tug brought to mind the talk his father had had with him when he'd realized his son's feelings about a girl. In addition to the mortifying usual "Talk", he'd stressed respect and courtesy above all else in relation to girls. This was, after all, how he'd caught the eye of the tough-as-nails Army sergeant that was Tug's mother.

After a few more pencil strokes, Tug gently blew over his sketch and closed the book. He replaced it in his personal satchel and removed a different book, a copy of Bram Stoker's "Dracula" with commentary by a historian and a professor of folklore. Tug opened the book to a dog-eared page and read over a passage he had underlined that listed the Count's supposed origins. He flipped through the book to the reference index and examined an enclosed portrait of Vlad the Impaler, wondering if Sibella's father really was the medieval prince.

"Tug!" The cadet looked up to find Jamal approaching with a cardboard box in hand. Jamal glanced backward, making sure the colonel wasn't nearby, before reaching into the box and handing something to Tug. It was a small bag made from a square of blue flannel, bound with a leather cord. Tug moved to open it, but Jamal's hand on his wrist stopped the movement.

"Gramma was real specific about not opening these," he said heavily. "Said it would ruin the protection. Just keep it on you and it should help with the nightmares."

Tug pursed his lips and nodded, slipping the bag into a pocket of his uniform. "Have you given them to the others?" he asked.

"Affirmative, but under the excuse of a promise to my 'kooky grandma'." He glanced upward. "Sorry, gramma. Love you." He looked back to Tug. "After lights out, we all really need to discuss this and get on the same page. There's no way it's a coincidence that it's just us five."

Tug nodded solemnly. Though there were a few more cadets added to the school roster over the years, the colonel had informed them that enrollment would explode after this year. Why, he wouldn't say. But among the half-dozen or so other cadets, none of them had shown signs of the nightmares plaguing the Crew.

And Jamal was right. The fact that it was them, who had history with the Grimwood girls, was far too much to be simple chance. And as odd as all of the ghouls were, he knew without a doubt that they were not behind it. Which left the most dangerous question of all.

If it wasn't the Grimwood girls … what was it?

* * *

In the science lab, Elsa was decked out in her lab coat and gloves as she finished up the preliminary notes on her next experiment with the supernatural. Had anyone else tried to read it, they would have found a bizarre mix of shorthand German and French, her way of coding her notes until they were finished. Afterward, she would retranscribe them into English. After a few more sentences of her encrypted notes, Elsa clicked her pen and turned on her tape recorder before turning her attention to the subject.

On one of her lab tables sat a large, cylindrical glass tank filled with a free-floating, undulating substance. A tank of ectoplasm, the substance of ghosts and spirits.

"Clinical observation epsilon/two," Elsa began, slowly circling the table to vary her perspective, literal and metaphorical. "Subject, ectoplasm. Prior data, the material of spirits and the like. Somewhat known to mortals due to photography hoaxes. No other concrete data as of yet."

As she continued to observe the ectoplasm, Elsa thought back on how she had obtained it. As far as she'd known, and still knew, one could only obtain "raw" ectoplasm directly from a spirit. According to Phanty, a lot of novice ghosts and spirits would "shed" the substance, leaving traces of it behind as they phased through walls or other objects. But even if Phanty had been a novice, it wouldn't leave a large enough trace to examine.

But Phanty had also said that strong enough ghosts and phantoms could produce it en mass at will. The only problem was that doing so generally required an intense burst of negative emotion, such as rage, fear, or hatred. Unless, apparently, the phantom had a willing vessel to contain their form while they produced it.

The most common vessel was a living mortal psychic, one with real sensitivity to the spiritual. (Apparently those hoax photos had been based on fact.) But they couldn't exactly run an ad in the local paper and expect to have a real psychic show up. So, they'd come up with a workable alternative. At this, Elsa glanced at the mannequin hanging from a hook and chain in a corner of the lab. She really had to find a way to thank Phanty for her support in this.

Shaking off the memory, Elsa returned her focus to the ectoplasm. The substance most resembled a gas of some sort, or perhaps a dense liquid suspended in water, as it free-floated aimlessly within the container. If it reached the edge, it would phase through the container's walls and then float back inward as if repelled by a gentle force.

Elsa glanced to the edge of the container, which was surrounded by a circle of rock salt. Sibella had suggested this feature, a magical construct that acted as a simple barrier to magical forces and substances, as ectoplasm in its raw form was generally unaffected by physical barriers.

"Subject note," Elsa said, "ectoplasm, upon concentration, possessed a gelatin-like consistency and," she grinned at having touched the stuff when Phanty had done her work, "warm temperature." Phanty had warned her what would come next, and so Elsa had been prepared. She picked up a stopwatch and checked the marked time. "Within six minutes, the gelatin ectoplasm began to evaporate into more vaporous state. However," she glanced at a thermometer set into the container, "containter has become rapidly chilled due to presence of ectoplasm."

That in itself was interesting. Generally, substances would become less dense with an increase in temperature. Solids melted into liquids and then evaporated into gases. But ectoplasm seemed to reverse this rule, becoming colder as it changed state. Perhaps this was a reason for infamous "cold spots" of ghosts and phantoms?

"Subject note, color. Ectoplasm appears generally colorless, though there appear to be streaks of faint blue, green, and purple. All cold colors, perhaps reflecting temperature like metal turning red and orange when heated." Not likely, but possible.

With that out of the way, Elsa breathed deeply and cleared her mind for her final preliminary test. She removed one of her gloves and placed her hand against the glass, ignoring the chill. With her mind clear, Elsa focused and tried to project her will into the container. The ectoplasm close to her contact began to swirl like steam caught in a breeze, floating away from her direction. Elsa's breathing became rapid, sweat beading her forehead as she kept up her focus. The ectoplasm continued to float away from her, forming a slowly growing void in the container.

With a gasp, Elsa backed away from the container and the ectoplasm rushed in to fill the void. Just like a liquid or gas would.

When she had recovered her breath, Elsa turned toward her recorder. "Hypothesis tested and encouraged. Ectoplasm reacts to the application of intense concentration, or 'willpower'." Just as Phanty had predicted. "Note to self, ask Tanis, Sibella, or Miss Grimwood for lessons in such things." Tanis had mentioned before that the skill to harness one's willpower was absolutely critical in any form of magic. "Second note, remember to consider parallels between phantom movement and spellcasting." That would be interesting to look at. Could a phantom or ghost … use magic?

Elsa glanced at the laboratory's clock and sighed before she began to remove her lab gear. Free period was almost over, which meant after-class gym was next. As she put away her gear and headed for the changing room, Elsa considered her plans to ask Miss Grimwood for training in the use of her will. Part of her wished she had the talent to use magic, but she'd been tested for the "inclination" at the beginning of her first year and had little natural ability. Oh well, no harm done. But she had to admit it would be cool to be able to manipulate energy, to cast it out and protect her friends and family.

As that thought began to pass, Elsa stopped in her tracks. She unconsciously brought her fingertips to the bolts in her neck, feeling the gentle hum of the current that was part of her unnatural life. And an idea began to come together in her mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a hand on her shoulder. "Elsa," Sibella asked gently, "are you alright?"

Elsa filed her initial musings into the back of her mind and smiled, in part in amusement at Sibella's penchant to appear out of nowhere at the very best of times. "Yeah, Sibella. I'm great. You ready for Coach's new exercise?"

"Always," the vampiress grinned ferally.

* * *

Miss Grimwood chuckled at the sight in her ornate scrying mirror, an image of her students racing across the grounds to find their coach. All they had to go on was the sound of his voice, a lack of scent confusing both Sibella and Winnie.

None of them seemed to suspect that Shaggy was actually on the roof of the school, a charm bracelet around his wrist that he had requested of Miss Grimwood for this exact exercise to hide his scent and camouflage him from sight. What the girls were chasing was a result of the coach's uncanny skill in ventriloquism. He threw his voice and let the girls chase it, only to throw it somewhere else. As they ran, he would throw out running advice and good-natured taunts in equal measure, testing their ability to cope under mounting pressure.

With a wave of her hand, Miss Grimwood dispeled the image and returned to her work. Tanis's encouragement had helped pull her from the brink, but Vincent's warning still nagged at her. And the remains of the invasive plant on one of her work tables wasn't helping her to relax either.

As such, after reinforcing the defenses of the school as she had already done, Miss Grimwood had devoted her spare time to improving herself. Oh yes, her magic was fine overall, excellent even. But there was one field she had never been very talented at that she had a bone-deep suspicion she would need very soon.

Combat magic.

While embraced as part of the monster community, mortals with the innate spark of natural talent to harness magic, known collectively as mages, still remained a close-knit community of their own, a kind of sister society with Monsterdom. Each mage, depending on their chosen field of specialization, was earned a title after they finished their apprenticeship. The titles were many and varied, from witches and wizards, to mystics, to sorcerers and sorceresses, to healers, to enchanters and alchemists.

One of the most misunderstood titles was the warlock. The term, derived from an old phrase meaning "oathbreaker", came from the earliest roots of mortal magic. In the earliest days, mages were either the "good" who took an oath to use their powers only to heal and protect their tribes or the "bad" who did anything else. Over time, a faction grew who used "bad" magic for good, to uphold the "protect" part of the oath. While the movement was met with opposition, the dark entities that thrived at the time, violent and murderous precursors to modern Monsterdom, made their presence necessary. Over time, the title of "warlock", of a combat specialist, gained a sense of respect. But miss Grimwood had never had what it took to become a warlock.

From the time she had first apprenticed under her grandmother, Miss Grimwood had never enjoyed violence. She was too kindhearted, too diplomatically dispositioned for such things. Oh sure, she'd learned the basics her grandmother had taught her for self defense, but those lessons had been thrust into the back of her mind as an absolute last resort and, as it happened, had never been needed. And as they had never been used, they had grown rusty to the point of nonexistence.

But with an ominous and vague threat hanging over her students this was no longer acceptable. And so here, in the forest behind the school and hidden by a simple-but-powerful cloaking spell, Miss Grimwood directed her will into a simple bolt of concentrated force. With a word in Cajun French for focus and an effort of will, she flicked her finger toward a straw dummy a few yards away.

The dummy swayed under the weight of her spell, the pole supporting it flexing just a bit, but no more. Hardly a dozen pieces of straw fell from it. Miss Grimwood hummed in vexation, her lips pressed firmly together. This kind of spell was one of the most basic for combat, the bread-and-butter of any warlock. She sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose in thought.

"Perhaps I'm going about this all wrong," she mused.

Matches, who had been curled up in the clearing all the while, lifted his head and snorted a stream of smoke in agreement. He had been watching his mistress cast that same spell for a half hour, hardly making any progress in its effectiveness and needing almost a full twenty seconds of concentration before she could even enact it.

Matches looked to Miss Grimwood herself, sweating, tired, and frustrated as she furiously tried to tackle her problem. But it seemed to Matches that the real problem here was not her non-existent aptitude for offensive magic (though, that was a problem in the eyes of any dragon) but the dogged idea that she had to suddenly become a warlock who could fling infernos and hill-shattering bolts of force with an idle thought and a flick of her finger. Hurling masses of raw power was not, and never had been, her forte.

If she wanted to improve, she couldn't conform to the traditional mold. She had to adapt to her strengths, the ones she had spent decades learning and cultivating.

Matches rose from his napping spot and wandered over to Miss Grimwood's discarded satchel and looped his tongue around a vial before flicking it a his mistress. In a totally unconscious movement, the headmistress snatched it out of the air without looking. Miss Grimwood examined the vial and looked to Matches in curiosity. He grumbled in his guttural speech and nodded at the vial. Only then did an understanding smile stretch her lips.

"You are right, Matches. Why try to become something I'm not … when I can evolve what I already am. I'm no traditional warlock, but I've never been much of a traditional anything." Ideas began to arise within her mind, ways to complement and bolster her poor combative skills, building them up until they were something truly formidable.

She snatched a notebook and pen from her satchel and began to scribble preliminary notes. Notes to research new potions to brew, to investigate new kinds of enchantments for amulets, to look into wand-craft for warlocks. Yes, this was what she was. An enchantress and a hedge witch. And above all an educator and researcher.

Before she brought down her cloaking spell, Miss Grimwood lit up her scrying mirror again. To a ghoul, her students looked exhausted and worn out. Determination still shone in their eyes, but it had dimmed from a bright fire to a simmering coal. They looked almost like sheep, aimless and haggard.

"Come on, ladies! Like, don't give up yet!"

Triedly, the girls all turned to find their coach standing a few yards away, his arms crossed and a toothy, wily grin on his face. Almost all at once, the girls screamed screamed bloody murder and lunged at him. To his credit, Shaggy yelped, his hair standing on end, and turned to run as fast as he could away. And as rested as he was, he easily outpaced them.

Miss Grimwood laughed, a full laugh the likes of which she hadn't felt from herself in quite some time, and dismissed the vision. She shrunk her mirror down and put it in her satchel, gesturing for Matches to follow as she brought down her cloaking spell and returned to the school, scribbling in her notebook all the while.

She had work to do.

 **Hiya, everybody. So, so, so sorry about how long this update took! Lots of college classes, including summer courses, and a harsh bout of writer's block will do that to you. Really hope this chapter makes up for it.**

 ***I took the octopus butler's name from Daphne's butler in "A Pup Named Scooby-Doo". No, the show is not canon to this story, but I thought it was a good reference.**

 ***The tentacle massage was inspired by the Futurama episode "Teenage Mutant Leela's Hurdles."**

 ***I chose Illinois as Tug's state of origin because it's 5th in the USA for Scandinavian population. I look at the kid with his blonde hair and can't help but think of that.**

 ***Mojo bags are a real thing in Louisiana and other forms of hoodoo (think of hoodoo as a non-religious version of the voodoo/vodun religion).**

 ***Shaggy's ventriloquism actually comes from the original series. It only appears a few times, in "What a Night for a Knight" where he throws his voice and in "Go Away Ghost Ship" where he imitates the pirate "ghost" Redbeard.**

 ***The word "warlock" actually does come from the Old English 'waerloga', meaning oathbreaker or deceiver. The other stuff is completely my own.**

 **See ya later guys, hopefully way sooner than before.**


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